The Outlaw and the Tactician
by Lilacs and Monarda
Summary: This story follows the progress of Billy and the Kid, but explores their burgeoning adult relationship. Taking off where the other story left off, Machiavelli has to confront his growing feelings towards the American immortal and the problems this presents along the way. Eventual happy ending, I promise.
1. Chapter 1

Machiavelli didn't get much sleep that night, waking every couple of hours. He eventually came to the conclusion that he was far too frustrated to fall asleep and instead lay watching lights from cars driving on the streets below sneak under the blinds in the window and listening to Billy's soft snores. He wondered why the outlaw was snoring now, when he didn't normally, and finally concluded that it must have been all the alcohol Billy'd had the night before. When filtered early morning light lightened the room considerably, he decided to give up entirely, and slipped out from the covers.

Snagging his phone from the bedside table, he eased open the door to the bedroom, careful to open it only as much as it needed to in order to let his lithe body out. Still, the door squeaked slightly and he cursed silently, looking over at Billy's prone form. The Kid snorted and rolled over, but otherwise did not wake up. Satisfied, he padded down the steps, not daring to dial the phone until he was two floors below.

He really had only one option of who to call, especially at this early hour. He hit the speed dial, listening to the dial tone ring as the call connected. He sighed in relief as a voice spoke on the other end. "Hello?"

"Hey, Scatty." Even he recognized the strain in his voice as he spoke. He coughed, trying to discreetly clear his throat.

"Kid? It's five in the morning." Under the Shadow's normal brash tones was an air of concern. Machiavelli felt or maybe hoped that she was a little worried about him. "Did something happen?" she asked shrewdly. The European immortal nodded, then realized that she couldn't see him and told her yes. He stumbled around the words. "Is Billy awake?" Scatty asked, prodding him.

"No, he's still asleep. I couldn't sleep." Machiavelli looked around the kitchen, noting for the first time that even here, Billy had put up several scantily clad pinups. He shook his head, feeling rather waterlogged from his sleep deprivation and hangover. "I think I'm still a little bit drunk," he mumbled, then realized how bad that sounded. "We went out to a nightclub last night. And Billy-he…" He clamped down his mouth and wondered why he'd called her when he couldn't put this experience into words.

"Did he go home with a girl?" Scatty asked, sounding oddly sympathetic.

"No." Machiavelli gave a nervous little laugh. "Not exactly. I, uhm, he came back with me. We were both pretty drunk, him more than me really, and we, well… I thought I knew what I was doing. But, now?" He ground his teeth. "I kissed him," he admitted abruptly. He heard Scathach about to say something but cut her off, needing to say it all. "And we did some other stuff and he seemed into it, you know," he added desperately, "at least I thought so at the time…" Scatty didn't say anything so he kept rambling. "We didn't do anything serious," he quickly added, "and then, he, well, fell asleep."

The line was silent on the other end for what felt like several minutes and the Italian immortal was beginning to get nervous. He checked the phone to see if the line had accidentally dropped, then heard Scatty's voice at last and pressed it to his ear again. "That's a lot, Mac," she said cautiously. He couldn't make out the emotion behind her voice. "So, do you think you're going to continue this?"

"I don't know," he admitted, sounding miserable. "What if this just happened because we were drunk?"

"Did you want this to happen?" Scatty asked.

Machiavelli was silent, weighing his options. He coughed, fighting his discomfort. "Yes," he breathed at last. Even though she couldn't see him, he blushed and had to fight the instinct to hang up the phone. "But what if Billy didn't want this? What if I ruin our friendship? I've never had a friend before, at least, not in a long time. I don't want him to look at me differently. Billy's going to hate me," he moaned.

Scatty's tone was placating. "I really doubt that, kid. Billy loves you a lot. In fact-"

Machiavelli looked up the stairs, hearing the American immortal call his name. "Scatty, I've got to go," he said. "I'm going to call you back today, okay?" After the Shadow reluctantly said goodbye, he hit the end call button. Swallowing thickly, he called back to Billy, starting up the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

"Where'd you go?" Billy drawled lazily when Machiavelli edged his way back into the room. He settled comfortably into his pillow, his eyes mostly closed, but groaned when he turned his head. The movement apparently hurt more than it should have. "I woke up and you were gone," the Kid told him, sounding faintly puzzled.

"Sorry," Machiavelli told him. Hesitantly, he climbed back under the covers on his side, settling on his side so that he could see Billy while he talked to him. "I went down to the kitchen for a minute. I needed to get some ibuprofen. I had a lot to drink last night." Billy seemed to accept that, but the Italian immortal found it odd that the other immortal hadn't mentioned anything about last night yet. He leaned forward slightly. "Billy, about last night-"

"Did you have fun last night?" the outlaw mumbled.

Machiavelli was slightly throw off. He wasn't sure if this was a trick or not. "Y-yeah. I did, I mean it was unexpected, but-"

"What time did we leave the club?" Billy interrupted, holding his head. "Hey Mac, you didn't happen to bring any pills up for me, did you?" Machiavelli shook his head and the Kid sighed softly. He groaned covering himself more firmly with the blanket as if to ward off any errant sunlight that might creep into the room.

"We left around two in the morning," Niccolò said finally, realization beginning to dawn inside of him. "Don't you remember that?"

Billy rubbed absently at his ear. He frowned in concentration. "I remember it a little," he said slowly. "It was raining, wasn't it? But that's really all I've got. I imagine I must have fallen asleep pretty quickly after that, didn't I?" At Machiavelli's silent nod, he nodded himself. "Yeah, alcohol always makes me sleepy. And I had quite a bit to drink last night. I don't usually drink that much…" He trailed off, his features relaxing, but Machiavelli was pretty sure that the outlaw was still at least somewhat awake.

Machiavelli rolled onto his back, not sure what to feel. Part of him felt sharp relief, knowing that he'd bought himself some more time. But a smaller part, his innermost part, felt a deep twinge of regret. Billy's amnesia meant that he was essentially back to square one, at least as far as the outlaw was concerned, but their little rendezvous last night had pushed Machiavelli much farther down the continuum of thought and feeling. "Billy?" he called out aloud.

"Yeah, Mac?"

"What are we going to do today?"

Billy fumbled around on the head board for his phone, and locating it, lit it up. He glanced blearily at the time and then turned it over again, the bright light apparently too much for him. "Sleep for a few more hours, I think, and then we should probably think about cleaning this place up." He thought for a minute. "And we should get you a cake at some point. It's one of your big birthdays!"

"Soon, I'll be your age," Machiavelli said, slipping into their normal banter. "And then I'm going to be older than you again. What are you going to do then?"

"You're not going to be my age for another month. And I've told you I like when you're older than me. Feels more normal," Billy said sleepily. He invaded the tactician's space some, cuddling closer to Machiavelli. "Did you really have fun last night?" he breathed, so quiet that Machiavelli, who was already admittedly distracted both by the close contact and his thoughts, almost didn't hear him.

"Yeah." Machiavelli couldn't help what slipped out next. "I'd like to do it again some time."

Billy grinned into his pillow. "Sure, maybe next weekend. What time did I say it was anyways?" he mumbled. He pawed around on his bedside table for his phone and looked at it again.

"You just looked at your phone!"

"I'm not processing a lot at this hour, Mac," Billy said, craning his head to look at the time. He squinted at the numbers for a minute and then with a groan, tossed the phone back on the table. "Oh god, why were you up at this hour? It's not even six!" He covered his head with his pillow.

Machiavelli knew that the Kid had really fallen asleep this time when soft snores escaped from under the pillow. His eyes itching with tiredness, he settled on his side. Knowing that the American immortal was asleep, he reached under the blankets and held his hand briefly, giving it a squeeze, before letting go. He felt a little numb, not knowing where exactly he stood. Billy clearly had no recollection of last night and while this was a relief in some ways, in other ways, it was rather disappointing.

He drifted into an uneasy sleep, smiling slightly when Billy took his hand again. It would seem that at least unconsciously, the outlaw had some feelings towards him, though what those feelings were exactly, he couldn't tell.

~MB~

When he woke up again, Billy was the one gone from the bed this time. He sat up in the semi-darkness, grateful that Billy had left the shades drawn. He rubbed away the rheum from his eyes, tossing the blanket over. He pulled his legs over the side of the bed and stretched experimentally before getting up at last. He had no clue what time it was, but figured it must be kind of late, to judge from how light the rest of the house was. He plodded down the stairs, locating Billy in the kitchen.

The Kid grinned at his entrance. "Hi!" he said, opening his laptop. "I know I promised you real food, but I was thinking of ordering a pizza. Cause I don't really want to go out right now to look for ingredients."

"That's fine," Machiavelli yawned, sitting on one of the stools at the island. "You're feeling better," he observed.

"I'm heavily medicated, sir," Billy responded, scrolling through their options. He finally selected a place off of the phone and dialed the number.

While they waited for their food to arrive, the outlaw moved about the room, washing some dishes and putting them away. Machiavelli wanted to help, but was overcome by sheer exhaustion, his lack of sleep positively stupefying him. He slumped over the linoleum top island, absently tracing patterns in the design. He mumbled a slightly muffled thanks when the American handed him a mug.

"We should call Scatty," Billy said, settling on the kitchen counter with his piece of pizza. He took a bite and tried desperately to keep some of his cheese on the slice, but ended up cramming half of the pizza in his mouth in the process. He looked a little disgruntled. "I hate when that happens," he said under his breath. But then he brightened. "Anyways, we never called her when we got here. We've got to tell her and the Flamels we made it."

Machiavelli's stomach dissolved. "Maybe we should call her tonight," he suggested, feverishly pushing off the conversation. "We can clean this afternoon. The whole place's dusty." _And I can text her ahead of time_ , he thought internally.

Billy shrugged. "Sure," he agreed readily, snagging another slice from the box. "Mac, are you okay? You're not eating much. And you seem like you're in a funny mood."

Niccolò picked at his arm, then realized that was going to help him convince Billy he was alright. He picked up a slice of pizza. "I'm alright. It's just some vestigial hangover," he fibbed. He cast around for another subject. "How many rooms do we have to clean here, anyways?"

The Kid shrugged. He ticked them off on his fingers. "Well, on this floor's the kitchen and the dining room, then above us is the living room and the bathroom, and then of course the bedroom and the study is above that. And we've got the little bathroom off of the bedroom. So that's… seven rooms. We don't have to do it all today. Probably put the study off till last. It's not like we do much studying, right?" And he laughed at his own joke. Machiavelli just shook his head, a small smile gracing his features.

"You said you had some friends that lived here in town?" Machiavelli probed. With the Kid's back turned, Machiavelli pocketed the immortal's phone, telling himself that he'd give it back to the other man later. But for now he couldn't risk the Kid calling Scatty before he got a chance to do so.

Billy nodded. "I'll introduce you some time. Not today necessarily…"

"No, we're both too hungover for any real human interaction. But I would like to meet some people while we are here."

"Did you want to clean today or take a lazy day?" Billy asked. He hopped down from the counter and sat beside Machiavelli at the island. He yawned, resting his head on the Italian's shoulder.

Machiavelli reflected that the Kid had perhaps gotten too comfortable with him over the summer's progress. As grown men, the close physical contact must look fairly strange to anyone outside of the two of them. "We should probably at least do some cleaning today," he decided. He put a hand on Billy's shoulder, not sure if he should still behave this way, but Billy seemed oblivious to any awkwardness that Machiavelli might feel.

"You're probably right," Billy mumbled straightening in his seat. He looked around sleepily. "Guess it's a good thing you stayed in your sweats. I've got some cleaning supplies downstairs." He slid off of his seat, Machiavelli mirroring his actions. Opening a door at the end of the entrance hallway, the outlaw fumbled for the light switch on the side. A dull orange glow filled the stairwell when Billy finally flicked it on. "Down we go. You know Mac, you don't have to do the cleaning with me if you don't want to," Billy called, rummaging in the garage for buckets.

Machiavelli came down the stairs to join him. He purposefully looked at a different section of the garage than where the American was, knowing that he had to be careful now as his feelings towards the other man became more evident by the day. "I am capable of helping you clean," he said, with a slight tone of indignation.

"Aw, Mac, I didn't mean to insult you. I know you're capable, I just thought you might not want to." Having grabbed several buckets, a mop, and the new package of sponges he'd gotten at the store, Billy came over to where Machiavelli was leaning slightly on the car. The Kid gave him his best winning smile. "I'm suited towards these menial tasks, Mac, but you, you're a classy guy." He gripped the gray eyed immortal's shoulder and gave him a friendly shake. "Here, take the mop, would you?"

Machiavelli followed him back up to the main level of the house. Looking around, he couldn't help but feel that he'd made a mistake. They hadn't been in the other parts of the house the day before and he hadn't realized that Billy's place was quite so big. From the hall closet, Billy pulled out an absolutely ancient vacuum. "Which do you want to do first, the kitchen or the living room?" he asked with a grin.

Wanting to explore, Machiavelli indicated the living room, so they dragged the vacuum up a floor. Billy wrapped a rag around the broom and set to knocking the cobwebs off of the ceiling and corners. Machiavelli decided he'd better start pulling the sheets off the furniture, waiting for Billy to do a section of the room before uncovering each piece. This had definitely served as some sort of man cave at some point of time. All the furniture was an equal mix of comfort and ugliness. Moving about the room, he was grateful that Billy hadn't put a shag carpet in and he told the American immortal this.

Billy laughed and explained that he'd first bought this house around the turn of the century and since then, only changed what he had to when the need arose. Tossing the now filthy rag into the pile of sheets to be washed, he scooped them all up and pushed them down the laundry shoot. "There's a basket down there," he explained to Niccolò's next question. "You might want to stay away from the electric sockets when I plug this in," he added, unwrapping the cord from the vacuum. I'm not entirely sure this won't blow a fuse or electrocute all of us when I first put it in."

"Then why use it, Billy?" Machiavelli asked plaintively, moving to the center of the room nonetheless. He sighed in relief when nothing happened and moved the deceptively heavy coffee table out of the way for the American immortal. Going back into the hall, he grabbed the Windex and another rag and set to washing the windows.

The rest of the day passed in this vein, the two immortals not so much cleaning the house as waging war with the years of grime left behind. Machiavelli wondered if the little bedroom at the cabin was going to look like this eventually and resolved to make Billy bring him back there at least once a year to prevent such thing from happening. He rubbed at his arms, feeling the sore muscles. Even with all of their work, they'd only managed to do the living room, the kitchen, and their bedroom.

"Oh, why don't we stop for the day?" Billy said at last, plopping down on the ground right where he'd been standing. Machiavelli thought about sitting on the bed, but realized his clothes would make a mess of the bedspread, something his counterpart had apparently already thought of. He sat down beside Billy for a moment, pulling off his socks and balling them up so that he could toss them in the laundry basket in the corner. "That was a lot of work," Billy groaned. He tugged off his shirt and used it to mop the sweat off his face, leaving dirty smudges on his forehead instead. "You want to take your shower first?"

"No, you can," Machiavelli decided generously. "I can wait."

"Sweet," Billy said, clambering to his feet. "I'll try to be quick," he promised.

"Take your time," Niccolò said dismissively, holding out his hands for Billy to pull him up. "I think I'll be in the study. I don't feel like I'm going to make a mess in there." Fleeing the room, he waited for the sound of the water before he dialed Scathach. She picked up on the second ring. "Hello, Scatty," he said dully.

"Hello, Mac." There was a moment of rare hesitation on her part. "What's up?"

"Are the Flamels in the room with you?" Machiavelli asked, sitting on the desk by the window. He fiddled with the drawers.

"Yes, I can look for that," she answered back and he knew that they must be around. He waited as she moved upstairs, imagining her progress. His keen hearing picked up the sound of the door closing behind her. "I didn't tell them what happened," she said softly, that strange tone of her voice edging its way back in. "You don't sound very happy, kid. What happened? Did you two have a fight?"

"No fight, no nothing. Billy's going to call you later on tonight. I wanted to give you a heads up before then."

"But what happened?" Scatty asked again, sounding very confused.

He couldn't really blame her. "Billy, uh, he doesn't remember much of last night. We were both pretty drunk. I guess he was drunker than I was. Or maybe he does remember last night, and he's just pretending not to, to be nice cause he doesn't feel the same way," Machiavelli said quickly, fear rushing into his heart.

"Don't jump to conclusions, kid, I think things are going to turn out okay for you, I really do." He was touched by the gentleness in her voice. Scatty certainly didn't have to and wasn't known for being sympathetic. He sighed. In the other room, he could hear the water turn off and he knew he didn't have a lot of time. "He's out of the shower," he said into the phone.

Sure enough, he heard the rap of Billy's knuckles on the doorframe a moment later. "Mac, you in here?" Billy poked his head into the study.

Machiavelli slid off the desk and gave a slight wave. "Scatty called," he said carefully. To her, he said, "Billy's out of the shower, so I'm going to give you to him, okay? I'll be done soon and then we could all talk if you want." Listening to her response, he waited, then handed the phone over to Billy.

Billy flipped the phone in his hand so that he was holding it correctly. "Hi, Scatty! I've missed you." He settled on the bed, lying across it diagonally. Machiavelli could hear his animate chatter as he moved about the bathroom, stripping off his dirty clothes. Even before he got in the shower, he had to scrub at his fingers to get the dirt out of the creases. Stepping into the shower, he felt instantly better. The hot water poured down on him, momentarily distracting him from his thoughts of Billy and the conversation happening.

He scrubbed at his body, a little disgusted at the murky water that was spilling down the drain. He felt like he couldn't have gotten dirtier if he'd gone outside and rolled around in the street. At last convinced that he had done the best he could do, he turned the taps off and stepped out. Cold evening air attacked his wet body, forcing him to dive for the last of the clean towels. Toweling off, he realized he had made a fatal mistake in forgetting to grab clean clothes. He sighed and wrapped the towel tightly around his waist before stepping out into the bedroom. "Don't look, I have to get dressed."

"Don't worry, I'm not that interested in your naked body," Billy said cheekily. They both heard a loud noise on the phone, the Kid getting the brunt of it. He held the phone away from his ear. The American immortal made a high yipping laugh, sounding like a sort of deranged hyena, as he listened to Scatty say something. "No, Mac's just doing a strip show for me," he said, finally.

Machiavelli leaned over Billy, getting close to the phone. "I most certainly am not," he said in a loud, clear voice. Billy chucked him on the chin and he huffed. Straightening to his full height once more, he pulled one of Billy's t-shirts on over his pajama pants. "I need better sleep attire," he told the Kid, who shrugged. He pulled Billy into a sitting position. "Let's sit downstairs, we'll be more comfortable," Machiavelli pleaded, so his companion begrudgingly got off the bed, following him down to their now clean living room.

The Italian immortal flicked on a light, bathing the room in a warm glow. He arranged himself delicately on the couch, Billy flopping down next to him. "Wait a minute, Scatty, I'm going to put you on speakerphone," Billy interrupted. He hit a button and put the phone on the coffee table. "Can you hear both of us?" he asked, settling into the comfy couch cushions.

"Hi, Scatty," Machiavelli called, absently curling into Billy side. Realizing what he'd done, he made to shift over again, but Billy slung an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in close. They looked at each other.

"Hey, boo," Scatty said back. Machiavelli grinned. "Is that my new name from you?" he asked. Scatty sounded lofty. "Billy reminded me, while you were showering, that as you are no longer a kid, he goes back to being the Kid." Next to him, Billy nodded affirmatively. Machiavelli put a hand on his face and gave him a little push. "So Billy tells me that you went to a nightclub last night?"

"We did," Machiavelli acknowledged, trying to sound like this was the first time he was talking about it.

"You pick up a lot of girls?" Scatty asked teasingly.

"He did," Billy broke in. Grinning at his companion, he leaned closer to the phone. "Our Italian Stallion was dancing with two girls at one point," he told her conspiratorially. Scathach feigned amazement on her end. He went on to describe their night in great detail, Niccolò occasionally throwing in his own detail or correcting Billy's faulty memory. Scatty occasionally threw in a comment of her own. "And then after a certain point, I don't really remember much," Billy summed up. He frowned for the first time, creases forming between his eyes. "I guess I just had too much to drink, but it's funny, I feel like something important happened. What happened, Mac?" He looked over at the dark-haired immortal.

Machiavelli had been drifting off to sleep a little, but woke completely with a little jolt. "What happened?" he repeated. There was a second where he didn't know what to say. "I brought you home and put you to bed. That's all."

"But I feel like there was something else," Billy pressed.

"It was probably nothing," Scatty broke in.

Machiavelli fumbled with his gold pendant. "It was raining when we got out. We ran back to the house." He didn't say anymore, afraid that additional details would spark Billy's memory. The outlaw nodded, but he still looked like he was thinking about the night before. Hurriedly, Machiavelli changed the topic. "Where are the Flamels, Scatty?"

"Ah, they're doing an inventory for the bookstore tonight. They should be back soon. Perenelle actually wanted me to remind you, that you should be thinking of your people and the places they might be located at, in conjunction with having your fun." She sounded like she was reading from a script. "She doesn't want you to forget."

"I could never forget my mother," Billy said happily. "She was my favorite woman in the whole world, no offense to you." He glanced at Machiavelli. "We should probably end the call for the night, Scatty. Mac's practically asleep." They exchanged their goodbyes and Billy handed the Italian his phone. Glancing reflexively at the phone, he realized they'd been talking to her for almost two hours. "You're not hungry?" Billy asked him.

Machiavelli shook his head. "Sleepy," he said instead.

"Okay." Billy pulled him to his feet. "Tonight, I'll put you to bed, then."


	3. Chapter 3

AN: It would appear that for right now, I'll be mostly putting this story up as chronicled vignettes. I hope everyone is enjoying the story and look forward to hearing your suggestions and comments. I'm keeping in mind those previous comments as I move forward with the plot (or lack thereof). Cheers!

~MB~

Machiavelli woke up Monday morning to find Billy practically wrapped around him. He blinked in the early light, wondering what had woken him up, and trying to get used to the sensation of the outlaw's hot breath on his neck. Realizing that what had woken him up was an urgent need to use the bathroom, he tried to carefully extract himself from the other immortal's limbs, but ended up startling Billy awake.

The Kid scooted back over onto his side of the bed. "Sorry. Black Hawk says I'm like a heat seeking missile. He usually throws a bunch of pillows between us when we do have to share a bed."

Machiavelli bounced from foot to foot, his need growing rapidly. It felt like someone was poking at his bladder. "It's okay, I don't mind. I've got to go though." Before Billy could fully comprehend his sentence, he had dashed off. Leaving the door slightly ajar to the bathroom, he didn't bother turning on the light before relieving himself. He sighed.

Climbing back into bed, he found Billy already asleep again. The Kid's breaths were deep and soft, his body strangely contorted. Settling beside him, Niccolò couldn't help but examine him critically. All of the hair on one side of his head was smushed down, but then stuck up on top and in the front. Glancing down his body, he noted the hem of his shirt riding up, a section of his abdomen exposed above his grayish white briefs. Lying back down, he tried to keep his thoughts chaste, but was hardly helped when the outlaw rolled over again, his bulge pressed into Machiavelli's hip.

Machiavelli rubbed at his stomach with his hand that was still free, trying to figure out how to best react to this new situation. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing, but found that he couldn't focus. He decided to give Billy a slight push, gently shoving him back onto his side. The slumbering outlaw complied, clinging to his pillow instead. _Good_ , Machiavelli thought, watching him. He flexed his leg, feeling the cool cotton rub against his exposed skin. There was a slight breeze making the shade flap back and forth; he could feel it tickle across his face. He fell back asleep again.

~MB~

When he woke up next, Billy was already awake and out of bed. Machiavelli pulled on the pair of sweatpants he'd discarded the night before, stepped into the slippers Billy had gotten for him when he got the bedspread, and wandered out into the house. He found Billy across the hall in a little study, sitting Indian style on a beat up desk. Balancing a bowl of cereal in his hand, he was intently people watching. He startled when Machiavelli spoke to him, apparently so focused on the street below that he was unaware of when the Italian immortal had come in the room. "Hi," he said, moving over. "I guess we'll be seeing a lot more people now, won't we?"

Machiavelli hesitantly sat down on the desk beside him, unsure if the old furnishing would hold up under their combined weight. When it didn't immediately collapse, he swung his legs around so that they were on the window sill, and glanced between them at the street that had captured Billy's attention. "Looks like everyone's off to work at this hour." He glanced around the room they were in.

Billy noticed him looking around. "Feel free to dig around," he said dismissively. "Mi casa es su casa." He climbed off the desk. "This place hasn't been lived in for a while. We might want to get some things to make it look a little more hospitable. I don't think you're cut out for the life of a bachelor, Mac."

"Excuse me, I've lived alone as a single man for hundreds of years."

"Yeah, but that doesn't make you a bachelor. You're refined, Mac. Not like me." Billy caught hold of one particularly racy picture on the wall and pulled it down. "I don't want to say I was a hippie in the sixties, but I definitely got down with the free love movement."

Flushing, the outlaw looked around the cluttered little room that they were in, apparently feeling that he'd said too much. He tried not so subtly to change the topic. "We still have to get you a bedroom of your own Mac. Maybe we could set up a bed in here. We'd have to move some stuff and maybe get rid of something, but I guess we could throw a bed over in that corner," he said, gesturing behind him.

"I don't want you getting rid of your stuff on my account," Machiavelli protested. Despite his warring emotions, he rather enjoyed sharing the bed with Billy and he was in no rush to relocate.

"I guess it would be pretty small in here," Billy mumbled. "And you'd need to come through the bedroom to get to the bathroom anyways, or go downstairs, and that's not necessarily ideal. Hmm… How do you feel about bunk beds?" he joked. "We get rid of the big bed and we'll just share the room we're in now."

"Billy, we're both adults," Machiavelli reasoned quietly. "I don't mind sharing the bed with you as long as you're okay with it."

The Kid shrugged. "I never mind it. It's not like either of us has a raging sex life, these days."

"Yes, we're both dried up," Niccolo observed with a small grin. He leaned back to look out the window. "I'm surprised you went the whole summer without, ah, how have I heard you put it, hooking up with someone."

"I had you all summer," Billy said, a curious mixture of confusion and slight offense tinting his voice. "I had to take care of you, you were just a little boy. Who would I have had sex with anyways? I was with you and the Flamels and Scatty for most of the time."

"Scatty's a girl," Machiavelli pointed out, picking up a rag that he'd left behind the day before and beginning to polish some of the books within his reach. "A rather pretty girl."

"Scatty?" Billy yelped. Machiavelli nearly toppled off the desk, not suspecting the sudden rise in volume, and the Kid flapped his arms apologetically. He blushed. "Scatty's like a sister to me. I wouldn't, I couldn't… I wouldn't do anything like, like that, to her, no." The idea was apparently unfathomable to the outlaw and Machiavelli almost enjoyed his discomfort. He remembered his earlier jealousy of the Shadow's relationship with Billy and he felt a little foolish. Clearly, to judge from the outlaw's reaction, he'd been very wrong about the two of them. He felt a little better. "Anyways, Mac, I don't have sex as much as you seem to think," Billy said, recovering from his disquiet.

"How often do you have sex then?" Machiavelli pressed curiously.

Billy shifted. "I don't know, honey. I don't keep track of it in my journal."

"Do you keep a journal?" Machiavelli asked, momentarily distracted. Billy shook his head, giving him an 'oh come on' look "Oh, well what's the last time anyways? You must remember that." The gray eyed immortal cheerfully continued needling his uncomfortable companion. "Come on, Billy, you told me that I wasn't a kid anymore, you can talk about these things again."

"When did I tell you that you weren't a kid anymore?" Billy asked sounding confused.

Now it was Machiavelli's turn to feel slightly wrong-footed. "The night we went out clubbing."

Billy ruffled the back of his hair. "I did a lot that night that I don't remember, didn't I?"

Machiavelli was uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was going and he decided to push back, seeking to gain control of the conversation once more. Besides, his interest had been sparked with the conversation before despite his reservations. "How many people have you had sex with?" he asked, trying to sound only vaguely interested. He glanced the window, instantly regretting his question.

"Uhm," Billy hedged, climbing back on the desk with him. "Not as many as you might think, but probably more than I should have." He held out his now soggy bowl of cereal to the Italian, who politely declined it. The Kid seemed almost embarrassed by the conversation, which surprised Niccolo, who had thought Billy might be the type to brag about his sexual adventures. Instead, Billy was turning a delicate shade of red. "I don't really know how many women, I've slept with over the years, Mac, awful as that sounds."

Machiavelli opened his mouth to probe more, than shut it again. He really didn't want to know this, after all. "That's okay. I was just curious." One the street below, a woman in a flowing blue dress caught his eye. Her curly dark hair reminded him painfully of his wife. For a brief moment, he felt a flash of pain. "I haven't been with anyone since my wife died," he admitted. "And before that, I slept with her obviously, and I had a couple of affairs that I'm not proud of. I've only known four women in the Biblical sense. Guess that makes me less experienced than you."

"It's not a competition, Mac," Billy said mildly and Niccolo glanced over at him. There was a little too much understanding in the outlaw's eyes for his comfort. Billy gripped his shoulder. There was a small, almost sad smile on his face. "I think it's a really nice thing that you've been so loyal to your wife all these years. I sometimes wish…" He shrugged and didn't continue.

Machiavelli pushed away from the window and touched down to the floor once more. "What are we going to do today? Clean some more?"

"No, I don't think so," Billy said decisively. He seemed glad they had changed subjects. "We're going to have fun today, I'm determined." He thumped his chest to show how serious he was.

"What do you have planned?" Machiavelli asked, following him out of the room.

"Nothing."

"Nothing? You always have something planned," the Italian said in surprise. He'd grown used to Billy having control of the wheel, both figuratively and literally.

The outlaw began to shave, dabbing at his upper lip with the shaving cream. Stripping to the waist, he lathered his entire face. "Yeah, Mac, I figured that your more dominant personality type would want to have control for once. I made a list of places we could go that's in the city, it's by my nightstand I think. Find something for us to do."

"It's kind of gray out right now, is it supposed to rain?" Machiavelli called out, wandering into the bedroom again. Billy said something back that sounded like an affirmative, so the tactician instantly narrowed the list down by indoor locations. "What on Earth is the Mütter museum? A museum about German mothers?"

Billy poked his head out. "Ah, that's a really cool museum actually. Has a lot of medical specimens and skeletons and things in jars…" He retreated back into the bathroom, apparently convinced his description would be enough to spark an interest. Machiavelli decided to look it up on his phone, scrolling through a couple of pages before he was willing to give it his stamp of approval.

Hearing the American immortal finishing up in the bathroom, he rushed to get ready himself. Sliding out of his sweatpants once more, he practically jumped into a pair of dark bue pants and picked out a white button down shirt. He was halfway through buttoning when Billy came out. Both immortals froze when they saw each other.

Billy stepped over to where Machiavelli was standing. "This isn't funny," he groused. "When did we start dressing alike?"

Niccolo couldn't help but smile looking at their nearly identical choice of clothing. "Probably when you started dressing better and I started dressing more casually." He was unable to stop himself from jabbing Billy where he knew it would hurt. "Wouldn't have turned out this way if you'd gotten me that suit I was looking at."

Billy made a whinnying laugh, starting to grin himself. "Well, maybe we should let you get a suit or two, but for now I'm putting on a sweater. Unless you plan on copying me again."

"My good man, it is you that is copying me," Machiavelli replied smoothly. He continued. "I wore button down shirts every day that we knew each other before this whole," he made a motion with his hand, "kid transformation thing happened. It's not my fault you were suddenly struck by a sense of fashion."

"Not your fault?" Billy mouthed at him as they clomped down the stairs. "Shave your face, Billy. Let's get you a new pair of jeans, Billy. Haven't you been wearing that shirt for a couple of days, Billy? You did this to me," he said accusingly, pulling the door shut with one hand, his fingers fumbling over the knob, while he pointed with his other hand at the Italian. "This has your serpentine stench all over, old man."

Machiavelli laughed. "We've apparently simultaneously corrupted each other."

"I was a happy man," Billy sighed dramatically.

"Oh, Billy," Niccolo sighed back, settling a hand on the other immortal's shoulder. "You always have been and you always will be. There's no denying that, is there?" He nodded at Billy's acceptance of his statement. "Right. That's why I'm so fond of you."


	4. Chapter 4

The sky was gray when they left, but the two immortals still decided to walk to the museum, feeling restless after a day spent entirely inside. Fat drops occasionally hit Machiavelli's upturned face as they wandered through the city streets. He was too busy looking at the buildings around them to mind much. After months spent in the backwoods of Montana, it felt a little disorienting to be surrounded by so many buildings and people again.

Luckily for him, Billy was paying far more attention to where they were actually going than he was. Several times, the Kid had to grab his shoulder to keep the two immortals from getting separated by other pedestrians or road blocks. "Sorry," Machiavelli apologized the second time it happened. "It just feels weird to be in a city again."

"That's because life is better out in the open," Billy told him patiently, as if this was an obvious fact. Looking around, the tactician could kind of see what Billy meant. Above them, the sky edged its way among the tall buildings, but it felt much farther away from them than it had before. They were held suspended amidst a crowd of passerby, everyone lost in their own lives. The effect was almost dizzying. People all around them were rushing off- _to where_ , he wondered. Idly he pondered this feeling, curious if his outlaw friend felt the same thing. _Perhaps this is why Billy keeps his distance._

He was surprised by the museum itself, expecting something a bit larger and more ornate. The building was quite beautiful- it held an antiquated charm- but he'd been prepared to see white marble walls of showy elegance, rather than this scholarly brick building. Much of the outer façade looked more like an old elementary school than one of the world's strangest museums. Altogether, it's incredibly ordinariness was a bit off putting.

He followed Billy inside through the front gates, tapping absentmindedly at the pillars in the wrought iron fence. They seemed to enter at just the right time- behind them, he heard the rain begin to pick up and he glanced back out at the world before slipping through the front doors. The encroaching storm was rustling the leaves of the enormous oak in the front lawn area and he made a small wish that the rain would be gone by the time they left.

The inside of the museum was again, very different from what he'd pictured. There was almost no reception area at all, the main entrance spilling almost immediately into an exhibit. "This is a strange place," he said to Billy after they bought their tickets. He stopped in the middle of the room. The front hall was open to the first two floors of the building, a black varnished staircase leading from the floor they were on to the floor above. A landing wrapped around the room. From what he could see, the walls on the second floor were lined with what appeared to be display cases full of skulls.

Surveying the room, he felt something almost electric coming off of the specimens. He was certain that at least one of them had been the skull of an immortal, feeling a peculiar sense of kinship with something in the room. He turned to look at the outlaw, who wasn't looking at the displays, but rather had been watching his reaction. "Do you feel something when you come in this room, Billy?" he asked the other immortal quietly.

The Kid smiled at him. "I do," he agreed. "I wondered if you would too."

"It feels like something is in here."

Billy ruffled his hair. "I get that every time I come in here, but I haven't figured out what it is yet." He tugged Machiavelli's sleeve, pulling him into another room, through a door the warlock hadn't noticed before. They stopped before a display case with the strange title 'A Stitch in Spine Saves Nine.' The display chronicled the changes in spinal surgery; the text in the back of the display describing what had been done in the past. Looking over the vast improvements that had been made, Machiavelli had to admit he was very lucky to have lived as long as he had. The look on Billy's face as he pressed his face to the glass confirmed a similar train of thought in his companion.

"Ugh, that's awful," Billy remarked, seemingly horrified and intrigued by one diagram. He shook his head as they moved along the room. "It is a very strange place," he continued, going back to the Italian's earlier comment. "But it's kind of cool to see all the old stuff. Especially for people like you and me, it's a way to see the parts of the world that we missed the first time around." He peered into a display of surgical tools from the Civil War. "When I was a kid, I didn't see hardly any of the world, it seems. This seems like a good way to catch up. Did you know? They have an entire section on 19th century medicine."

Both men stopped talking as they came upon a guide who was leading a group of middle schoolers through. They followed the small group, Niccolo only convinced it was okay by a few other adults who seemed to be unattached to the children.

Their guide, a petite black woman in a smart pant suit, stopped before a display of full body skeletons. The rib section of one of the skeletons was grossly expanded, unnatural in the sheer size that it took up. "As you can see," she said in a carrying voice, "we have several specimens that are a bit unusual. Often times, we hear people describe our museum as some kind of horror show." She paused. There was nervous giggling from two girls who'd obviously been caught red handed. "However, the Mutter Museum is important largely because of our commitment to showing these exhibits. Can anyone venture a guess as to why?"

One little girl in the front raised her hand. She spoke so quietly that Billy and Machiavelli, ten feet behind her, couldn't hear her response, but the guide seemed pleased. "That's correct. The Mutter Museum is first and foremost, a place for doctors and scientists to learn. Here in the United States, we have the benefit of great health resources. Most of these defects and conditions are no longer found here. However, in other parts of the world, people, especially children your age are…"

They let the group trail off in its own direction, wanting to look at the displays at a more leisurely pace. "An interesting perspective," Machiavelli said, stepping into a sort of cubbyhole space made by the displays. Billy followed him. "It does seem like people were allowed to be more different in years past. Now everyone has to fit this ideal image."

"Right. I had a teacher when I was in Kansas; she had quite the beard herself," Billy said, looking at some of the models. "Nobody thought it was strange. That was just the way she was made."

Rounding a corner, they found a statue of a man in a toga, clutching a staff with a snake wrapped around it. "Ah, this guy," Billy said, looking up at the statue's face. "Since I've got you here, how on earth do you say this guy's name?"

"Ah, that's Asclepius," Machiavelli said, glancing at said statue. "Greek god of medicine. Appropriate."

"You can say that, but you can't pronounce Quetzelcoatl?"

"Excuse me," Machiavelli said, smiling brilliantly, "but I think Quetzel- I think your master's name is much more complex than Asclepius's. Why can't you say his name?"

"It sounds like I have a lisp whenever I say his name," Billy mumbled, the edges of his ears turning pink. They both jumped as a particularly loud crack of thunder broke nearby.

"You know where I would like to go, Billy?" Machiavelli asked rhetorically as they worked their way down another hallway. They paused in front of a model of conjoined twins. "I'd like to go back to Pompeii. And Italy. We should go to Italy someday. You've shown me your world, I'd like to show you mine."

Billy glanced at him. "I'd like that," he agreed, a shy smile forming on his lips. He let Machiavelli talk him into some lunch at the small cantina around the corner from the museum. Over sandwiches, he prodded the Italian immortal into talking about his last experiences in Italy and then ensuing fight that had occurred between him and Perenelle. So into their conversation were the two immortals that, for a while, they forgot to eat at all.

After lunch, they moved back towards the main hall of the museum. Having made the circuit of the downstairs displays, they walked upstairs to the skull displays. "Dr. Mutter displayed these skulls for the benefit of scientists," Billy read, "in the hopes that they would help teach future pathologists the effects of everything from lifestyle to genetics on the formation of the human skull and face."

Each skull on display had a name, the person's occupation, and the cause of death listed. That initial feeling Machiavelli had felt intensified up here. He wondered which skull, if it was indeed one of the skulls, had been the immortal. Perhaps a bit egotistically, he assumed that this person must have had some importance and began ruling out some of the more menial laboring personages.

The skulls themselves came from varied personages. He read with some interest, the description below one grinning cranium. The skull had belonged to one Andrejew Sokoloff, who had died of "self-inflicted removal of testicles," he read with a shudder. The Russian had belonged to a religious sect who had practiced castration as a safeguard against 'ungodly lust.' He wondered what this sect would have thought of him, with his affairs, or worse yet, of Billy, the proverbial flower child of the free love movement.

Moving down the line, he began to notice a pattern in what at first had seemed to be some great derangement. Most of the skulls seemed to have been collected from individuals of questionable repute. For instance, upon one shelf, sailors, soldiers, sharpers, and suicides kept each other company. It made sense, he reflected, as these individuals would have been easiest to grave rob. "Do you think our immortal is among these skulls?"

"I think it's one of the skulls we're picking up on, but I'm not sure we'll be able to find which one it is," Billy said gently. "I've been here several times, over the years. I still don't know which one it is."

"It's just that there are so many specimens, I think it's throwing me off. Who do you think this one was? Why did they give up their immortality?"

"No clue," Billy said cheerfully. "You have too many questions for me, Mac. I'm a simple creature." He smiled angelically at Machiavelli.

"Let's find out how simple you are," Niccolo said smoothly, pointing to an interactive exhibit. There was a phrenology measuring tool being operated by one of the museum's staff. Working his charm, the Italian immortal managed to convince the other immortal to get his head 'tested'. Glancing at a chart next to the tool, he poked the American in the ribs as the staff member fitted the contraption on his head. "There's a section right at the top that means you have a sense of immortality. Think that's why you have that lump on your head?"

"My head is lumpless," Billy protested magnanimously, making a face as the contraption was attached to his head. He seemed fairly distracted by what the tool was doing, trying to look up to see the tool but only succeeding in moving it away from him. The man fitting it on his head seemed immune to their hilarity, probably having heard just about everything by now, Machiavelli reflected.

After some strange measurements that neither immortal could make sense of, the bored employee printed off a sheet of paper which he handed to Billy. The two immortals retreated to a bench behind a model of the muscular system before opening the paper. Machiavelli, leaning over Billy's shoulder to read, let out a little laugh. "That's actually kind of accurate," he told the outlaw, taking the paper from him. "You're an amative individual with a heightened sense of hope and benevolence. Strange that it wasn't so far off."

"Another point to phrenology," Billy joked. He glanced at his watch. "Mac, we've been here a couple of hours. You want to look around more or should we head for home?"

Machiavelli grabbed his hand to tilt the watch towards him. "Home, I think. I'm getting sleepy. We've been here quite a while."

"Alright, but we've got to stop in the gift shop," Billy said happily.

Niccolo paused on the stairs. "They've got a gift shop?" he asked rather incredulously.

"Of course." Billy threw an arm around the other immortal's shoulders. "Can I interest you in a giant colon plush?"


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Proving, once and for all, that I have no concept of an update schedule...

* * *

Machiavelli declined the colon plush, but allowed the American to get him a surprisingly cute dendrite plush. "You would pick a nerve cell," the Kid remarked, but he bought it nonetheless. The Italian was rather pleased that he still had some pull over his American friend.

On their way back, Niccolò listened in careful silence as Billy filled him in on several TV shows that apparently were coming back on again soon. Without really meaning to, he agreed to catch up on at least one of the TV shows with Billy, something he suspected was a mistake as the show was now in its thirteenth season.

"Do you watch any shows?" Billy asked curiously, following one particularly long discussion.

Machiavelli had to think about it. "Not too many," he said haltingly, thinking back. "But there have been a few shows over the years that I've liked. I don't know that you'd know them though; I've been living in France for so many years."

"Try me," Billy cajoled, hopping up on a bench and balancing precariously, momentarily, on the bench's armrest before leaping lightly off to land on the sidewalk with a gentle whoosh.

"I was particularly fond of Marie Pervenche."

Billy stopped and cocked his head. "Old girlfriend of yours?" he asked, sounding greatly confused and almost, _was he misreading this_ , disappointed.

Machiavelli shook his head, putting up his hands placatingly. "It was a television show during the 1980's and 1990's. I also liked Arsène Lupin. You might have liked that one. It was a crime show where the main character was also allegedly a criminal."

Billy relaxed. "Complicated lifestyle that man has. Not like us, huh?"

"Yes, we live a boring life," Machiavelli agreed drily. Feeling damp after their walk home, he glanced behind him to make sure the shades were closed, then let his aura flare, drying them both instantly. "Do you still want me to teach you some tricks?" he asked, remembering the conversation they'd had before all of this had happened.

Billy nodded eagerly. "Teach me everything, Mac."

"Those lessons will have to wait," Machiavelli told the Kid as his stomach growled. "We're both hungry." He pulled a container of ground turkey out of the refrigerator and set it on the counter. Opening up the cupboard, he scanned the new bottles of herbs they'd picked up. He pulled down several. "I'm going to make meatloaf tonight, unless you object."

"I like meatloaf," Billy said happily. He settled on the countertop behind Machiavelli, watching the Italian immortal move about the kitchen. "Need help?"

Machiavelli tilted his head. "You can peel some potatoes and corn," he said at last. He dug through the refrigerator and, locating the bags, pulled them out and tossed them to the outlaw.

Using his toe, Billy pulled open the drawer across from him and leaned forward to get the peeler. He couldn't quite reach, but seemed persistently unwilling to get off his perch. Machiavelli let him do it for a solid minute, before taking some measure of pity on the man. He pulled out the peeler and handed it to his friend, softly scolding the other man in the process.

"You've got a lot of spices, Mac. What happened, I rub off on you?" Billy ribbed Machiavelli gently, beaming. "Get it, rub off. Cause there are spices and I'm spicy and you make a rub… oh, forget it," he sighed dramatically, as the Italian feigned indifference to Billy's talents in making puns.

"You're… spicy?"

Billy turned his head so that the tactician could see his profile, jutting his chin out in a heroic pose. The effect was somewhat ruined by the Kid's toothy grin and the way Billy kept glancing to the side to see if his more mature companion was watching. "Oh, Billy," Machiavelli said, his fondness for the other man evident in the crinkle of his eyes. "You're certainly something."

"Thanks, I try." Billy cocked his head. "I make meatloaf every once in a while, Mac, and granted, I'm no chef, but I don't think I use hardly any spices at all really."

"I'm making chipotle meatloaf," Machiavelli explained, packing the mixture into a loaf pan. He fumbled with the oven. "Billy, help," he said in desperation. "What temperature do I cook it at? What's 175 Celsius in Fahrenheit?"

Billy pulled out his phone and typed something in rapidly. "350," he said happily. "What would we do without technology, huh?" So saying, he hopped down from his spot on the counter and brushed at the seat of his pants. "The vegetables are done. If you don't need me for a few minutes, I think I'm going to change into lounge pants."

Machiavelli waved him off. Putting the meatloaf in the oven, he left the vegetables to soak and headed up the stairs himself, settling in the living room on the main floor. It gave him a small sense of joy, closing the curtains of the window and turning on the lights. He could just barely scent the meatloaf cooking below and hear Billy singing a couple of floors above. And he felt like he was home at last.

~MB~

"This isn't the show that you said you wanted me to watch," Machiavelli said, glancing at the box on the coffee table. He'd been sucked into the actual show, but now while there was a pause, the thought occurred had occurred to him. He watched Billy switch the disks, putting the first one back in the case and dropping the second into the DVD slot.

"No," Billy agreed. "I was going to put that in, but I realized that I don't have all of those on DVD and I didn't want to have to hook up the computer to this TV, I'm not even sure that you can hook up the two… so I thought you'd like this show. Why, don't you?"

"No, I do," the Italian assured him. He picked up the box. "I like it a lot."

"Monk was a great show. Sucks you in, huh?" Billy eased himself back onto the couch. He let out a piteous moan as he shifted his weight to a more comfortable position

"Food makes you sleepy, I gather?" Machiavelli asked, glancing at the other end of the couch where Billy was currently sacked out. Leaning forward, he grabbed the remote and navigated to the front menu.

Billy held his stomach. "I ate too much," he groaned, a pleased smile on his face nonetheless. "You shouldn't cook like that again for a while."

"Why you didn't like it?" Machiavelli joked lightly, keeping his banter light to disguise the fact that he cared very deeply about the outlaw's answer.

"I did like it. I did…" Billy yawned, stretched his entire body (which at five foot eight wasn't very much) and snuggled deeper into the couch. "I liked it so much that I ate, what? Half of it? I can't even move and I'm thinking about that last piece down in the fridge."

"Sounds like a personal problem," Machiavelli said drily. He rubbed Billy's feet, eliciting a small yip of happiness from the immortal. He'd come to the conclusion that the Kid was some strange cat-dog-human hybrid and definitely, if nothing else, a hedonist. "I like the show," he offered.

"Good."

"Why don't you go to bed?" Machiavelli asked, watching Billy curl up under the covers. He turned his body so that he was more on the couch and carefully slipped his legs behind the outlaw's body so that he could stretch them out. "We could watch more tomorrow night."

"I don't want to go just yet," Billy said sleepily. "I like being with you."

"Billy, we share a bed."

The Kid shrugged. He stretched out his legs suddenly, making a half yawn, half mewing sound. With the way they were positioned on the couch, his foot made light contact with Machiavelli's crouch, causing the Italian to groan just slightly and suck in his stomach in an effort to distance their body parts. "Sorry about that, Mac," Billy apologized profusely, sitting up. "Did I hurt you?" Machiavelli shook his head, no. It hadn't hurt actually, but it did inspire other more confusing emotions. "Ah well, sorry anyways. Let's watch one more episode, then we can go to bed. Or I'm going to bed, at least."

"I'll go too," Machiavelli agreed. He used the remote to start their show again. "They must have had good writers for this show," he commented. "All the little details become important in the end."

"It was a great show," Billy agreed. "I like it cause it's funny, but it's sad and sweet too. They shouldn't have ended it when they did."


	6. Chapter 6

Machiavelli woke up to the feeling of Billy pressed up against him. This was nothing new; he was actually growing used to the American immortal cuddling next to him and he began to enjoy the feeling now. He turned his head unconsciously towards the other immortal, not opening his eyes.

"Hey," he heard softly in his ear and he stiffened. Opening his eyes, he suffered a body jerking shock to find himself nose to nose with the Kid, Billy's brilliant blue eyes gazing steadily back at him. He went to move back, but almost tumbled off the bed. Billy surprised him by gripping his hip, essentially pulling him back to safety but grazing his body for far longer than was necessary. "Sorry," Billy apologized sleepily. "I'm on your side."

Machiavelli wet his lips. "Yeah, you are," he reproached mildly. "You going to move back?"

"No," Billy teased. His eyes shuttered close, but he didn't move back, if anything he just slid his hand lower on Niccolò 's leg and tightened his grip. Machiavelli couldn't help but let out a moan, the stimulation going on below aided by the brush of Billy's lips on his nape. Struggling for control, he flipped the outlaw onto his back and hung over him, mind sluggishly refusing to process the situation. Billy grinned up at him. "Going to finish the job this time, Mac?" he said, letting his legs splay open suggestively.

And then-

Billy gave a particularly loud snort and Machiavelli startled awake for real this time, sitting up to gaze around the semi darkness in confusion. He could hear Billy's soft snoring beside him and he glanced over at the other man. The outlaw had thrown a pillow half over his face, obscuring his eyes, and had left his mouth half open, but was definitely asleep. Machiavelli lay back down, slipping his fingers beneath the elastic of his boxers and gently cupping himself. He tugged experimentally at his balls, knowing he was close to losing it.

Working with light fingers, he quietly pushed himself the rest of the way over the edge, gazing at the outlaw beside him and wondering what was wrong with him that he'd continue to do stuff like this. Totally spent, he fell back asleep again, though his mind was thankfully dreamless this time.

~MB~

Machiavelli lightly sprinted up the front steps, precariously balancing his drink tray in one hand as he fumbled for the set of keys Billy had given him the night before. He was surprised to find the bottom floor lit up by sunshine; it had been dark downstairs when he'd gone out and that didn't seem so long ago to him. He wandered into the living room where he found his companion sprawled on the couch. "Hey," he said cheerfully, setting the drink tray on the coffee table.

"You went out?" Billy asked, squinting sleepily at the Italian immortal. It was a few hours later and Billy must have gotten more sleep than Niccolò , who had gotten up an hour after his 'dream.' Still, the American somehow looked more sluggish than his sleep deprived counterpart. Tugging the blanket around him, he repositioned himself so that he wasn't slouching nearly as much.

Machiavelli dropped his bag on the table and held out a coffee for Billy. He watched the American take a sip. "Yeah, I thought I'd get breakfast for us. Cause we still haven't gone shopping yet." He sat down beside Billy, crossing one leg over the other to keep himself from fidgeting. "I don't have to ask you anymore to go out, do I?"

"No, no. It's just that there are some parts of Philly that aren't as safe as others. I just was a little worried, is all." Billy seemed to perk up a little as he downed the coffee. Relaxing, Machiavelli took a sip from his own cup. Billy's nose twitched. "Did you get pastries?" he asked hopefully. The tactician nodded, so he dug through the bag, shoving a bear claw in his mouth and held out a muffin for the Italian. "You're the best, Mac," he said through the pastry, looking as though he had a large, icing decorated moustache.

Machiavelli delicately pulled pieces of his muffin off. "I know," he said with a small smile. "I also got you a bagel." Billy snatched up the bag he'd previously dropped and dug through several napkins, at last finding his bagel. His whole face lit up. Machiavelli felt a little embarrassed watching the animate immortal. "It's just a bagel," he said dismissively, feeling the collar of his shirt get hot from the obvious display of gratitude.

"Just a bagel," Billy exclaimed, impaling it on his thumb. He rummaged for the case of cream cheese, tossed it in the air and caught it again. "Black Hawk never gets me bagels. You want some?"

"Just a little bit. Less than that," he said back, watching Billy break the bagel in half. "That's good. Thank you."

Billy licked cream cheese off his fingers. "This is a good day. I can tell already. The weather's nice, I'm still wearing pajamas, and you brought me the best food in the world." He smiled. "I'd give you a kiss, but you probably don't want me doing that anymore, do you?"

Niccolò cocked his head. "Ah, one more for the road," he said tapping his cheek. Billy huffed a laugh, but surprised Machiavelli by cradling his face tenderly with his right hand. He kissed the immortal lightly once on his cheek and once on his temple. "I love you Macaroon," Billy said, and Niccolò 's insides gave a pleasurable squirm despite Billy's most recent, ridiculous nickname for him.

Machiavelli wanted to say something back as a strong feeling welled inside of him. But opening his mouth, he lost the words he wanted to say most. He closed his mouth again. Inside of him, he chanted, _stop it stop it stop it._

"Hey, Mac, did you know that I was trending on Facebook?" The Kid scrolled through his phone, evidently greatly amused.

"Trending?"

"Oh, yeah, uh, how can I put this so you'll get it? When a lot of people are talking about something on social media, it's considered a trend."

Machiavelli was a little offended that Billy thought he wouldn't understand that. "And why are you trending, as of late?" he asked, peering over the outlaw's shoulder.

"They found another picture of me, I guess," Billy said, holding up his phone so that Machiavelli could see a black and white photo under the headline 'America's Favorite Outlaw'. "It's kind of weird," he continued comfortably. "People never liked me that much when I was alive," he traced quotation marks around the word, "or at least I was nobody's favorite."

"Except for your mother." Billy considered it and nodded. Machiavelli smiled. "And mine. You're my favorite, too."

"Favorite what?" Billy prodded, trying to get a reaction from the tactician. He lightly touched the other man's elbow, leaning in all the while.

But the Italian ignored that question. Taking the phone from the other immortal, he studied the picture carefully. He shook his head. While he knew very little about the American Wild West period, he knew with some certainty that he'd never seen any other gunslingers or outlaws wearing the clothes that Billy had now been caught wearing, twice. "You weren't very fashionable in that sweater," he said critically.

Billy gestured to himself. "When have I ever been fashionable?"

"Too true. But that sweater looks particularly horrid." He expected the other man to protest, but Billy just nodded sagely so Machiavelli immersed himself in his coffee. Coming up for air, he asked the question that had just struck him. "So how did you lose this picture?"

"I didn't lose it," Billy said indignantly. "I couldn't even afford it at the time. It was Charlie's," he said, pointing to the man on the horse on the far right of the picture. "Charlie Bowdre. His wedding and he wanted a picture of all of us together. I liked that sweater a lot," he said suddenly. "It was red. Very ugly. Very comfortable. You wouldn't let it in the house, would you?"

"Let's just say, I'm glad that your fashion sense has improved, even the meager amount that I'd wager it has," Machiavelli said somewhat diplomatically, his general sense of disapproval seeming to endlessly amuse the American immortal.

Billy pulled at the shirt he was wearing a bit self-consciously. Machiavelli had picked it out for him; it was still more stylish than he would have ever selected himself. "I guess everyone has to grow up eventually," he admitted freely. "You're not going to change my whole wardrobe, are you?"

Machiavelli shook his head. "You wouldn't be you if you weren't a little grungy half the time."

"I hope that's a compliment." Leaning back, Billy took a big bite from his bagel. The two ate in companionable silence, the Kid somehow finishing long before Machiavelli had. He ran upstairs, promising to get ready so that they could go out and explore. Machiavelli absently touched the part of his cheek Billy had brushed with his lips. Shaking his head slightly, he gathered the trash the outlaw had left behind and began tidying the room. He folded the blanket Billy had been wrapped in and flung it over the back of the couch. Idly, he wondered how his relationship with the outlaw was going to change as he grew older.

~MB~

"The thing to remember about Billie is that she's complicated," Billy warned Machiavelli as they drove across town. He navigated his big boat of a car through the streets easily, but his mind seemed to be racing ahead of them. "Kind of like Zelda. I hope she'll like you though. I've always been kind of surprised that she likes me."

"Everybody likes you, Billy," Machiavelli said. "They can't help it."

Billy cracked a smile at that. "You mean, more people would hate me if they had a choice?"

Niccolò punched him on the shoulder. "You know what I meant." He looked out the window as the buildings rolled by them. This isn't a great part of town," he observed mildly.

"Neither was the spot where we're living when I first bought it, but I guess when you buy real estate you take a chance," the Kid laughed. "I've tried to convince Nora to buy a better place before but she says she likes it over here. Reminds her of where she came from."

"Nora?"

"Oh, well her real name is Eleanora. I call her Nora cause otherwise we'd both be Billy. And you know how confusing that was with the Pup." The outlaw scowled, apparently still offended. "But we actually have a lot in common. Did you know we're both of Irish descent?" He laughed. "I didn't expect that the first time I talked to her." Machiavelli smiled too.

Sighing, Billy parked the car on a side road. "I really hate parking my baby in neighborhoods like this," he muttered in a low voice. "We should try to get her to come back with us."

Machiavelli nodded, but he was distracted by some kids playing on the playground next to where they'd parked. He smiled as a blond boy ran up to a small Vietnamese boy and gave the littler one a big hug. "They're so cute," he said happily. "I miss my children."

Billy patted him gingerly on the back. "They are really cute," he agreed. "I really like kids," he told the Italian immortal as they crossed the road. He caught Machiavelli by the sleeve and pulled him towards a building the other immortal had been about to pass. "Up here. Yeah, I really wish I could have kids. That's why I loved you so much this summer."

"You don't love me now that I'm not so little?" Machiavelli asked drily out of the corner of his mouth. He took a shuddering breath as they climbed to a fourth floor landing. Their brownstone had apparently not been enough practice for this long haul up the rickety, decidedly code-failing steps.

Billy stopped in front of apartment 47. He pressed an ear against the door. "I wonder if she's here," he mumbled.

Machiavelli slapped his arm. "You didn't check before we came over here?"

"She's always here. Unless she's not." Machiavelli thought that was the most unhelpful thing he'd heard the American say, and that was saying something. Billy knocked again. "Nora! It's your good friend Billy."

Almost as though she'd been waiting for him to say something, the door swung inward. Stepping back a little, Machiavelli gazed into the face of a woman he'd thought was dead for nearly a hundred years. He obliquely wondered how many other immortals were out there, with no record of them at all.

Next to him, Billy smiled. "Hello," he said almost shyly. "Remember me?"

"How could I forget another Billy?" she said mildly, not smiling, but also not frowning. She pushed the door open more and gestured them in.

As the Italian immortal followed the two Billies into the apartment, he took in small details about the woman in front of him. She was slightly shorter than Billy, with light brown skin, and dark eyes. Her eyebrows had been waxed off and repainted with some sort of makeup. And-

"You still wear a flower in your hair," Billy said, smiling brilliantly. The jazz musician nodded, but her eyes were on Machiavelli. The Kid followed her gaze. "Oh, I brought a very good friend of mine. Meet Niccolò." Machiavelli went to put out his hand to shake, but Billy subtly took it before he could complete the movement.

"Mr. Machiavelli," she pronounced with careful accentuation. He nodded, a little surprised that she knew him so immediately. "Billy was reading one of your books the last time I saw him."

"When was that?" Machiavelli asked, curiosity moving past his initial hesitations.

She waved a hand dismissively. "What, fifty years ago now?" Billy nodded, her assessment apparently accurate. She looked at him, a queer half-smile on her face. "You didn't bring me a flower this time. You did last time."

Unbidden, Billy sat down on the couch they'd been standing next to. He flashed a grin at her. "I would love to buy you a flower, but I wanted to be sure you were still at the same place before I got it. I'm very glad you still are around."

Lady Day made an odd wheezing laugh. "I'm glad I'm still around too. Most days anyways. You want something to drink?" she called out as she moved towards the kitchen.

Billy waited until she was out of sight before drawing Machiavelli close to him. Urgently, and under his breath, he whispered. "She's not big on physical contact, especially from men." Machiavelli nodded, understanding instantly. They broke apart as she came back.

She gave them a funny look. "And where have you been lately, kid Antrim?"

"We just moved to Philadelphia."

"You two living as a pair of homosexuals?" the jazz singer asked bluntly, lighting a cigarette and promptly stubbing it out again in an ashtray. Billy choked on his Pepsi, sputtering small bursts of it onto himself. He shook his head quickly, still coughing. Machiavelli thumped him on the back, also shaking his head. She tossed her pack of cigarettes into the wastebasket. "I'm off smoking," she said, catching the Italian's look. "I just quit. Anyways, who am I to judge? I like the company of women just as much as men." And she gave a hearty laugh.

"Ah, but our circumstances are a little different," Billy tried to cut in.

She ignored him, looking at Machiavelli. "Shouldn't you be older?"

"Well," Machiavelli began and then stopped. He didn't really know how to explain their unique situation. With Zelda Fitzgerald, they hadn't even tried. But Lady Day was different. He knew her sharp mind was already assessing the situation. "It's kind of a long story."

"And we, what? Don't have time? I wasn't planning on dying anytime soon," she drawled, sitting daintily in a chair from the '70s. She regarded him with soulful eyes, waiting, apparently for him to tell her the story. He glanced again at Billy, crooked a finger to him and pointed to the couch beside him, Machiavelli being the last to stand among them. The Italian sank onto the couch beside him.

"Mac saved my life at the beginning of the summer," Billy told her, carelessly tossing an arm over the back of the couch. "You must have heard about the trouble on Alcatraz." She nodded. Billy dragged a hand through his hair, the old nervous tic well known to Machiavelli by now. "I made a mistake. Well, a lot of mistakes actually. But anyways, one of them got me in some trouble."

"Yes, a gigantic hole in your chest," Machiavelli mumbled on Billy's other side.

"I was stabbed by this enormous, ugly crab," Billy explained enthusiastically. "By its- what's the word- chelipeds. Black Hawk kept reminding me what they were called. And-"

"Black Hawk was there?" she broke in. Billy nodded. She huffed, but signaled with her hands that he should keep going.

Billy looked momentarily confused. "Where was I?"

"You were just explaining to her how you were being incredibly reckless," Machiavelli reminded him testily. He crossed his legs. Billy laughed. "Right." While Billy was talking- and he went into graphic detail about the Karkinos and his wound, making the Italian quite queasy- he looked around the room. Like the woman who lived in it, the apartment was disguised on the outside to look like something different. Outside, the building had looked like a hovel. The neighborhood was definitely rough. But in here, it was different. While the apartment was decidedly dated in some ways (the furniture), it was clean and well kept. And she had flowers everywhere. He smiled.

"And then Mac poured almost all of his aura in me to close my stomach wound." Machiavelli blinked. He hadn't been paying attention, but apparently Billy had described their adventure to the other Billie when he was looking around. "He could have died," Billy concluded, sounding a little more serious than he usually did. "I don't thank him enough," he said quietly. Niccolò waved a hand, trying to brush it off. He turned a delicate shade of pink, embarrassed. "Nah, come on, I'm serious. Anyways, we've been spending some time with Nicholas Flamel- you must have heard of him- and he knows a fair bit about these things. Flamel says that the process de-aged him. It's been weird. But fun."

"So you're just aging back again." The Italian immortal nodded. "So, it's like getting a second chance at being a kid." There was almost something sad about how she said it, like she would have liked that chance herself.

"Yeah, essentially," Machiavelli agreed, embarrassed to have all the attention on him. "Billy took care of me when my body was really little, but now I've basically got all my faculties back again. We live together because…" he trailed off.

"You must really love him," she observed, looking at him.

Machiavelli turned a darker shade of pink. "I'm very fond of Billy," he stammered. "I couldn't let him die. We didn't even know if any of our other friends were going to be alive."

Thankfully for the Italian, the conversation moved on to various other topics. He wondered idly why Billy had stopped seeing some of his friends or if it was typical for immortals to go decades without seeing each other. He couldn't imagine not seeing Billy for years.

~MB~

"Is this the orchid I got you?" Billy asked, looking at the flower on her bedside table. She nodded. Having spent the afternoon listening to the two Billies swap stories, they were now in the jazz singer's bedroom, watching as she dug for something in her closet. While they were waiting, the outlaw hopped from foot to foot, trying to wake up his limb which had apparently fallen asleep while they were sitting in the living room. "I don't really know one flower from another," he confessed to Machiavelli. "Billie asked me to get her a gardenia. I got her this. Apparently they're not the same thing."

"I still like it," she said from where she was crouched.

Billy leaned against the door frame. He massaged his foot roughly. "Didn't you start wearing flowers in your hair because you burned your hair?"

Billie looked back at him. "Yeah, I lost all of this part, right before a show," she said, demonstrating the spot. "I had to cover it somehow." She straightened up. "Here, I found it." She held something out in her hand and Billy took it. A smile broke across his features.

"This is an old picture. Look, Mac." It was a photo of Billy, presumably in a bar. He was sitting on a stool between two people Machiavelli now knew- Billie and Black Hawk. Both the male immortals had shit eating grins on their faces. He smiled himself. "It's a good one," he agreed.

Billy pushed off of the doorframe. "Well, we've been here for hours. We should probably head out now. Unless you want to come out to dinner with us?" He looked hopefully at the petite immortal. She shook her head, herding them out. "Okay." He tried to hand her back the picture.

"Keep it. I want you to have it." Stopping at the door, she hesitantly reached out her arms. Billy let her hug him, but didn't embrace her back. She smiled at him. "Mind if we come visit again?" She shook her head. Looking at Machiavelli, she stopped, then held out her hand. He shook it, truly touched. They both slipped into the hall where old fashioned gas lights had lit up while they were in the apartment.

"Well, aren't you happy that your car wasn't stolen or scraped or scrapped or anything of that sort?" Machiavelli asked, after they stumbled down the four flights of stairs. They could see the Thunderbird gleaming from down the road.

"Yes," Billy said simply. He fell forward onto the hood of his car, embracing the Thunderbird wholeheartedly. "I missed you," Machiavelli was sure he heard Billy whisper and he looked around surreptitiously, sure that they were going to be killed in this neighborhood, just for acting like idiots. He tapped his foot nervously and was much happier when the outlaw rolled off the hood, landed cat-like back on the ground, and unlocked the car. He scrambled into the car, pulling the door shut behind him. "Nervous, Mac?" Billy asked, craning backward to look for traffic. He slipped out onto the road.

"We're immortal, not-"

"Invulnerable, yeah, I remember that Mac," Billy answered dutifully. He coasted onto a side road. "I would never let anyone hurt you," he promised gallantly. "Never, ever, ever. I keep my friends safe." He paused as the light turned red. "Did you like her?" he asked, still looking ahead.

Machiavelli nodded, then realized Billy might not be able to see him. "Yeah. Yeah, I did. I just found her a little…" he searched for the right word.

"Caustic? Sarcastic? Abrasive?" the Kid suggested cheerfully. "Yeah, she's sweet, but she can be sour too sometimes. I think she liked you though, which is good, cause she doesn't like a lot of men." He made a slight hissing sound. "Did you know she was raped when she was 11 years old? I think that's the most awful thing ever."

Machiavelli shuddered. Things like that always reminded him of his daughters; it upset him terribly. He cast around for a change of topic. "How did you meet her? At a club?" Looking around, he was glad that he was beginning to recognize the roads around them. They must not have been very far away now.

Billy scratched at his chin. "Well, that's where I first met her, yeah. But actually Black Hawk introduced us." He turned slightly pink and mumbled under his breath. "They were having sex." The pink color creeped up his neck and flushed out his ears.

"At the club?" Now Machiavelli was confused. Then it dawned on him. "Ah."

"Yeah, they're actually the reason why I don't use club bathrooms anymore. I'd rather piss in the back alleyway than potentially see again what I saw that night." Billy parked in their driveway, left the car running, opened the garage door, and then pulled in the rest of the way. He did this very matter-of-factly, giving Machiavelli the impression that he'd been doing it for too many years to count. They both got out and Billy led the way up to the main level.

"That bad?"

"He could have at least shut the stall door," Billy mumbled. "I've seen things that can never be unseen." He flopped on the couch dramatically. Machiavelli yawned as he collapsed into Billy's lumpy armchair, little bits of fuzz flying up into the air. Their day in the jazz singer's apartment had worn him out entirely. "You want me to make dinner?" the outlaw slurred out, an arm draped across his face.

"No," Machiavelli sighed. He reached out and gave Billy's foot a squeeze. "I can make supper. I will too, in a minute." He was quiet. Part of his mind was recapping what they'd talked about with the female immortal, but some small, inner part of him kept going back to them walking down that sidewalk, before they'd even gone in the building. Closing his eyes, he remembered the way Billy had looked back at the boys on the playground. "Do you think you're ever going to have children, Billy?"

The Kid folded his hands across his belly uncomfortably. "That doesn't really seem possible, does it, Mac?" He smiled thinly up at Machiavelli, who'd gotten up and stood over at him. Rolling his shoulder blades, Billy sat up. "I've got good friends," the American immortal said. "It's not quite the same, but it's sort of like having family. Right?"

"Right," Machiavelli agreed. He reached out both hands to Billy. "Come into the kitchen with me. I'm going to be there a while. Keep me company," he implored the other man. Clasping hands with the outlaw, he pulled him to his feet.

Billy shook his head at the Italian. "You got so tall," he said mournfully.

"You're just sad cause we started talking about kids and it reminded you that I'm officially an adult again," Niccolò pointed out.

Billy smiled. "That's true," he agreed ruefully. "I loved having you as a little kid, not that I don't like you now," he added hastily. "But I liked carrying you to bed and hugging you and reading you books…"

"Billy, you seem a little sad right now. Would you like a hug?"

"I don't know why I'm getting sad, I wasn't sad just a little while ago," Billy said thoughtfully. "Maybe, I do want kids someday but that really is impossible, isn't-" Machiavelli cut him off. He threw his arms around the outlaw's shoulders, trying to show Billy how much he loved him by squeezing him. The American immortal sighed, resting his chin on Machiavelli's shoulder. "I'm not that sad, Mac. Don't worry."

"I know." But he gave him an extra squeeze before going back to his lasagna noodles. "I'm tired enough, Billy, that you just might end up having to drag me up the stairs tonight anyways." Billy grinned. "I can do that," he agreed.


	7. Chapter 7

The next afternoon found them comfortably pigeonholed in their home. Machiavelli didn't quite know where Billy was, just that he was somewhere upstairs. As for the Italian, he had curled onto the living room couch. Billy's suggestion that they clean some of the other rooms in the brownstone had gone unheeded; something Niccolò felt mildly guilty about. He looked up at the ceiling, hoping that the Kid wasn't up there doing all kinds of work while he was down here, doing essentially nothing.

Machiavelli stopped what he was doing every few moments to glance thoughtfully out the window. He'd made the executive decision last night to take a step back from his feelings towards the American, reflecting that this could all be still the result of raging teenage hormones. Loving his outlaw was far too painful when he accepted the realization that things between them would never work out. Their dinner last night had been everything he'd wanted- with one thing important thing missing.

Their intimate relationship had grown so steadily, and slowly, around the two immortals, that Machiavelli hadn't really noticed how they were bonded together. Their afternoon together with Lady Day had opened his eyes to how their relationship must appear to outsiders. With that perspective in mind, he had noticed that the things they did, they weren't normal for two male friends. And yet, Billy would never think of him as anything more than a really good friend. It stung.

Not able to figure out how to fit that last piece in, he pushed away from the situation. Right now, he was reading, engrossed actually in a dusty book he'd found in the room across from their bedroom. He jumped a little when the Kid turned on the living room light, so enraptured by the book that he hadn't been paying attention to the apartment's other occupant. "Have you ever read this?" the Italian immortal asked when Billy wandered into the room.

Billy grabbed the book in the Italian's hands and tilted it so that he could see the cover. "Clockwork Orange. Yeah, I read it when it first came out. Disturbing isn't it? The movies around here too, somewhere…" He gestured wildly at the gargantuan entertainment center that took up one of the walls of the living room and had taken forever to dust.

"They made a movie of this?" Niccolò asked, barely looking up from the book. He was both disgusted and engrossed in the book, the gratuitous violence erupting off the pages in such a way that he felt a little sick at how much excitement he felt coursing through him as he read.

"Mm hmm," Billy mumbled, flopping onto the other end of the couch Machiavelli was curled up on. He closed his eyes, nuzzling the soft, faded corduroy upholstery. "Same guy who did the Shining. Ever since the movie came out, it's been banned on and off again." He chuckled weakly.

Machiavelli slid a bookmark into place and set the book beside him on the table. "If you ever want to get a large group of people to read a book, you should ban it," he remarked ironically. He smiled. "I got the personal pleasure of having my book banned by the Pope in 1559. It was deemed unchristian."

"You're unchristian," Billy said comfortably, reaching out a socked foot to rub his knee. "Good thing, too. Religion will never get between us." He yawned and scrubbed at his face.

Niccolò caught Billy's foot in his hand. Tugging on his leg, he got Billy to stretch both legs out onto Mac's lap. "Why are you so tired today?" he asked curiously, beginning to massage the American's feet. He pressed his thumbs into the pads of the other man's feet, feeling callouses beneath the knit material. He expected the outlaw to be ticklish, but his actions seemed to have a soothing effect on the man instead.

"I've just been having trouble sleeping lately," Billy mumbled. Opening his eyes, he shrank back a little finding Machiavelli's sharp gray eyes fixed on him. "I've just had some things on my mind lately. I don't know, sometimes at night, I think… Nothing, really. Nothing serious," he said, obviously trying to diffuse the tactician's interest, but only sharpening it by his oblique refusal to explain exactly what he was thinking about. "You give good foot rubs, Mac. You should have told me this ages ago."

"Don't change the topic," Machiavelli told him. "What were you thinking about?"

But Billy wouldn't tell him. "It's really nothing serious," he insisted. He pasted a goofy grin on his face and straining, tapped Machiavelli's chin with his toe. "Don't stop," he begged. "It's going to take a lot more effort than that to get to the real kinks. Walking up and down those stairs yesterday and then these stairs here, it was too much for your poor Billy. I'm getting old."

Machiavelli made a noise of disbelief. "Billy, I'm almost 400 years older than you."

Billy blinked. "Oh, yeah."

The tactician began to massage the other man's feet again. He shook his head. "Did you really forget how much older than you I am?"

"Kind of," the Kid admitted happily. "Your body's younger than mine right now. And you don't act like an old man…"

"I guess I'll take that as a compliment," Machiavelli told him.

"You should."

"What have you been doing all afternoon?" Machiavelli asked curiously, unconscious of the fact that he had spoken in Italian until he saw the semi-confused expression on Billy's face. He was just about to translate it into English, when Billy began to answer him.

"I was writing down a list of places we lived for Perenelle," Billy replied in flawless Spanish. Machiavelli had to smile. The two languages they were speaking were close enough that they could make out each other's meaning, but Billy's response showed him how the American must have felt hearing Italian. The differences stood out just enough to be jarring. "My mother, brother, and I, I mean," he clarified in English. "She knows where we've been."

"Have you been a lot of places?" Billy nodded vigorously. "I don't think it'll be as difficult to find my wife," Machiavelli said thoughtfully, tapping his thin lips. "We lived in a little house not far from where either of us grew up. When we were poor, we were briefly exiled, but I don't think she would go there. It wasn't a bad life for me, but I don't think she enjoyed it very much."

"You didn't mind being exiled?"

He shrugged self-consciously. "I didn't like being away from the Florentine courts, but there were aspects that weren't as bad as could be expected. I played backgammon with my fellow dwellers and wrote in the evening. Mornings, I used to take a long walk. It was better being ignored than being tortured. As I've always said, it is better to exist unknown to the…"

Billy snapped his fingers. "That's right. We've been putting off that talk about you being tortured."

Machiavelli slouched down in the chair, pulling his book up again to hide his face. "There's really no need to talk about it," he mumbled. Billy whacked him with a rolled up newspaper. "Hey! You hit me!" the Italian exclaimed in surprise.

"Do you honestly think there's 'no need to talk about it'," Billy retorted. "My friend, that I've spent all summer learning to love, and I don't know about the time he got hurt the worst? You promised we'd talk about it," he said, pointing at Machiavelli. "We've put it off for months. I'm not letting you get away with pushing it off more."

The tactician sighed, but lowered his book. "Fine," he agreed reluctantly. "What do you want to know?"

"What did they do to you?" Billy asked softly.

Machiavelli rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. "My name was found on an incriminating list. They believed that I'd been part of a failed conspiracy to assassinate the Medici rulers. So they used what is called a strappado, a popular torture device to come out of the Renaissance," he explained baldly. "Have you ever heard of it?" he asked. Billy shook his head, looking apprehensive. "Ah, well. Another form of it was used on POWs in the Vietnam War; I thought maybe you'd heard of it then. With the strappado, your wrists were tied behind your back; the rope was then thrown over a pulley. The prisoner was then hoisted into the air-"

Billy scrambled to his feet, looking rather sick. He backed away from the couch, as if to protect himself from what Machiavelli was saying, but made a motion for the other man to continue. Niccolò hastened to finish. "The prisoner would then be suddenly dropped toward the floor, only to have the rope stayed at the last moment. They would do this until the prisoner confessed. But I had nothing to confess. I was never part of that conspiracy."

"How many times did they do that to you?"

"Six." His response made the American immortal groan. Machiavelli spoke rapidly, as if it would make it less unpleasant if he got it over quickly. "Really, that's not so awful. Savonarola was dropped fourteen times."

"Not so awful!" The outlaw uncovered his mouth. His face had gone a deathly pale color, the color of old candle wax, and Machiavelli was beginning to worry about him. He looked like he was going to be sick. "Six times? I think that's the worst thing I've ever heard," Billy said weakly. "In the west, we just shot people. We didn't torture them." He cradled his arms in front of him, grasping at his elbows. Another thought seemed to strike him. "How are your arms not still messed up?"

"The procedure usually dislocated one or both shoulders, tore muscles, and often rendered one or both arms useless," he admitted unwillingly. "Immediately following the… right after it, I couldn't lift my arms at all. But I gradually got some movement back. And when I was made immortal, Aten fixed my whole body." He put up placating hands to the American immortal. "I'm alright, Billy. Really, it happened such a long time ago. I just don't like to talk about it."

"I wish I hadn't asked."

The tactician was inclined to echo the thought, but instead slipped off the couch. He approached Billy slowly and ran a hand down the side of his face. It was at times like these, when the Kid was scared or upset, that he was reminded of how young the American immortal still was. He wondered how Billy had hung on to his innocence after so many years of being exposed to a hard world. "Are you going to be okay, William? You're looking rather pale."

"I-" Billy coughed. "I just don't like hearing about my friends getting hurt. Specially you. Makes me want to go back in time and kill them all."

"Well, that's what got you in trouble in your time," Machiavelli chastised gently. "Would you like a hug? Or something? I'm worried about you." Billy nodded, so the taller immortal slipped an arm around the outlaw's shoulders. "We haven't hugged in some time," he laughed. "We don't fit together the way we did when I was littler."

"You fit just fine," Billy said. "We just have to get used to the height difference." He rested his head in the crook of Machiavelli's neck for a moment, then pulled back. He looked at Machiavelli, but seemed unable to say what he wanted to. He made a small noise of frustration instead.

"Billy, this doesn't change us in any way, does it?" The Italian couldn't help but sound worried. Billy shook his head, but he seemed distracted. "Good. Let's do something fun tonight then. Bring me to a movie." He smiled. "Buy me a popcorn."

"I can do that," the Kid agreed, pushing the fringe out of his eyes.

"It's been a long time since we've had your hair cut," Machiavelli observed, causing the other man to scowl. He tried wheedling him like he would have in the past. "Don't you want to look handsome for me?" Billy glanced at him, with an embarrassed smile on his face. Niccolò tried to sidestep the awkwardness by confronting it. "What's the matter? I can't get away with saying stuff like that to you anymore?"

"It does sound a little funny coming from a grown man," Billy agreed, his nose a little pink from amusement or embarrassment, Machiavelli couldn't tell. "Alright, Mac-a-whack, I'll go to the barber before dinner. Are you coming?"

"Why, do you think I need it?"

The Kid nodded. "If I do, you do."

Machiavelli shrugged and began to look around for his loafers. Finding them, he toed them on and headed for their coatrack. "Well, I guess we'll keep each other on track, this way. We'll just get haircuts together for the rest of our lives?"

"Sounds accurate considering you'll probably be the one to make me get a haircut for the rest of my life."

~MB~

"Why are we paying to see this in theaters when I know we have it on DVD?" Machiavelli queried thoughtfully, following Billy nonetheless up the stairs.

Billy surveyed the theater, pausing halfway up to look around. "Here, let's sit here. We'll get the best sound quality and view of the screen." He grabbed the Italian's arm, gently pulling him down the row. "We're watching it in theaters to get the true experience," he answered patiently. "Besides, better popcorn." He grabbed some from the carton Machiavelli was holding. The Italian immortal held it out for him, trying to entice him to hold the ungainly monstrosity of butter, but the Kid just smiled and declined. "Besides you told me that you wanted me to bring you to a movie.

"I guess I just assumed it would be a picture, I hadn't seen before."

"Oh. Well, I kind of assume that you haven't seen most movies."

"I guess I can understand that," Machiavelli agreed mildly. "It's just that people gave us kind of funny looks when we came in. I think they think we're dating."

"Who cares what anyone thinks of us?" Billy said lazily. He glanced over at the tactician. "It's none of their business if we were dating or not. I'm allowed to spend time with my favorite person without anybody judging me."

Machiavelli felt like he'd swallowed something warm, the feeling encompassing his heart. Part of him wished that Billy would stop saying such nice things to him. He would never stop loving the American immortal as long as Billy kept this up. "You don't mind being mistaken for a gay man, then?" he asked curiously, turning his attention away from the screen where the mindless advertisements had just gone around again.

"Nah, why should I?" Billy asked. He leaned forward, looking for any employees, before putting his feet up on the seat in front of them. He slid down a little, apparently very comfortable. Machiavelli shook his head at him wordlessly. The Kid seemed truly more concerned that he would be caught with his feet up than he was about being mistaken for what could be a fatal orientation in some parts of the world. "This is a great film, Mac. I could watch it a hundred times."

"I liked Shawshank Redemption," Niccolò agreed cautiously. "I don't know that I'd want to watch it a hundred times." He knocked Billy's hand out of the way to get to the popcorn. "We should have gotten a bigger thing of popcorn. We're going to be halfway through this one before the movie even starts.

"Just a minute ago, you said that this one was way too big," Billy reminded him, pulling a box of Nestle Crunches from his pocket. "Women are lucky, you know."

"How so?" Machiavelli asked cautiously, not knowing where exactly the American immortal was going to go with this.

"Well, for one thing, they can hang out with other women without anybody suspecting anything of them. But more importantly, they carry those big purses and nobody questions them on that. They could've gone to the store, bought a shit ton of candy and brought it all in with us. We can't do that! Instead we have to pay the premiums here." Billy let out a small mournful sigh.

"Yes, I'm sure the ability to carry purses makes up for the systematic inequality women face," Machiavelli agreed snarkily.

Billy turned his head slightly, laughing into the collar of his shirt. He shoved a knuckle into his mouth to muffle the sound. "Yeh- You're so sassy, Mac. Has anybody every told you that?" he asked when he finally calmed his laughter. His eyes were crinkled in obvious delight.

All of Billy's laughing rubbed off on the Italian immortal. He hid his small grin by taking a sip of the outlaw's drink. "No," he answered finally. "Nobody's ever called me sassy before."

"They should have," the outlaw told him forcibly. "Somebody should have, before this." And he kissed the shell of Machiavelli's ear. Niccolò glanced around the theatre nervously, but nobody seemed to have noticed. He relaxed ever so slightly, feeling better when the lights dimmed. Billy leaned in to whisper in his ear. "You're my favorite, Mac."


	8. Chapter 8

Their ridiculously ornate doorbell woke them both up the next morning.

"Oh god, who could that be?" Billy groaned. He pulled his pillow over his head and curled onto his side, mumbling incoherently.

"Don't know. I'll get the door," Machiavelli very unwillingly volunteered, assessing himself as the more appropriately dressed of the two immortals. He pulled his robe on over his nightclothes, stumbled over Billy's slippers and decided to put them on, then padded down the two flights of stairs. He smacked the outlaw on the ass as he stumbled past. Billy laughed and wiggled it at him suggestively.

At the door, he peered through the curtain to see who was interrupting their slumber so impossibly early in the morning. He was surprised to find Billie Holiday on their doorstep, looking both haughty and bored, but carefully coiffed nonetheless. He pulled the door open. "Hello?" It came out as a croak and he coughed, trying to clear his throat.

"Hello" she said. "Are you just going to stand there or are you going to let all of the cold in first?" And she strode in without waiting for an invitation. She looked at the front hall, still cluttered with a lot of the mess they'd been trying to clean up all week. "Love what you've done with the place. Where's the Kid?"

Unable to process all of Lady Day's personality, he pointed upstairs mutely. The tactician could only scramble after her as she ascended the stairs with surprising speed. Alighting to the top floor, they heard Billy call out in a sleepy voice, "Who was it, Mac?"

Machiavelli followed her into the two male immortals' shared bedroom. "It's Billie," he said, pointing out the obvious.

Said immortal snapped on the lights, causing both Machiavelli and Billy to groan, having been exposed so far only to the dim light that stole in through the slats of the window dressings. The sudden change in ambiance also left the American immortal ridiculously exposed. Having gone to bed in only a pair of briefs, he was only half covered by blankets, one leg out from the covers and falling over the edge of the bed. He blinked blearily, yanking the covers up.

"Wow, you two really do live like a pair of fairies," Billie observed (glancing a little too long, _Machiavelli thought_ ) from Billy's semi-nude body to the other side of the bed where the blankets had been thrown back when Machiavelli scrambled out of bed. Her eyes made a cursory sweep of the room, obviously noting the invisible line down the middle of the room, where Billy's side was sloppy and Machiavelli's, tidy.

"Nora, I don't think you're supposed to be using that kind of language anymore," Billy protested, sitting up and hunkering with his pillow thrown in his lap to give him some semblance of modesty.

"Why not?" she asked idly, picking up a pair of briefs with two fingers before flinging the article of clothing onto the hamper in the corner. The PC police going to cart me away?"

"Because most people find it offensive these days, that's why."

She tutted. "That's what we called them growing up. That's not going to change. You know I'm too stubborn and set in my ways to change."

Machiavelli had been watching this interchange with a dreadful fascination. "But you said yourself, you've been in love with other women before. Don't you think this kind of language is hostile?" Machiavelli couldn't help but break in, unable to let the conversation progress any further without saying something. Exchanging a glance with the American immortal, he crossed the room and pulled open the closet door. He snagged an Aerosmith t-shirt which he tossed to Billy. The outlaw gratefully pulled it over his head.

"And I've been called a fairy before," she said, sounding almost bored with their indignation. "It doesn't hurt me. It doesn't hurt anybody," she declared firmly.

Machiavelli mouthed wordlessly at her. He opened his mouth to continue his argument, but caught Billy almost imperceptibly shaking his head in the background. Perhaps sensing that she wasn't going to budge on the matter, Billy deftly shifted the focus of the conversation. His tact made Machiavelli feel dizzy; it was almost as if they had shifted places. "Well, until we finish getting this place cleaned up, Mac and I have to share a bedroom."

"Why though?" At first, Niccolo thought she was just being stubborn, but then he realized that the jazz singer was genuinely curious. "We immortals don't really need to sleep. I wouldn't have come over now if I'd known you'd be asleep."

Her last comment made a lot of the frustration Machiavelli'd been feeling towards her deflate a little. She sounded rather vulnerable and he realized that she must have been a little lonely too.

Billy yawned. "Machiavelli needed the sleep when his body was growing leaps and bounds, and I just got used to it. I like feeling cozy." He blinked. "Did you have a plan in mind or are we just winging it?"

"You're going to bring me to the zoo," she said airily, her brisk confidence shielding her once more.

"Is it open now?" Machiavelli wondered aloud. He squinted at the clock on his bedside table- half past five.

"Probably not. Hey Billie, dear, why don't you let Machiavelli make you a cup of tea in the kitchen? Or coffee. I'll get dressed and come down. We'll find a diner open or something."

"I'll go down there, but no tea. You know, young one, I've never been interested in your body that way. On the other hand, if it were your friend Black Hawk…" she winked roguishly. It did make the outlaw laugh, but he sounded a little tired. "How about a gin and tonic," she suggested to the Italian instead, hooking arms with him gaily.

"I think not," he told her as they descended back past the main level. "How about coffee?" he suggested instead, depositing her at the island. He wasn't quite sure if she was joking or not, but he began preparing the coffee pot nonetheless. She shook her head, but accepted the mug he handed her.

"You know what I like?" she asked him cheerfully.

"What?" he asked semi-warily. He could only imagine what she was going to say.

"Giraffes." And she laughed. Machiavelli laughed too. He imagined that he must have looked surprised as that was the last thing he expected her to say.

Billy came into the kitchen at that moment, to Machiavelli's great relief. He found her big personality a little offsetting; Billy seemed better able cope. As he passed the outlaw, he made care note of the man's black pants and red sweater, determined not to dress alike again.

A half hour later they were out the door. The two male immortals made the gallant but foolish gesture of letting Billie pick their breakfast venue. "This isn't exactly what I had in mind when I said we'd do breakfast," Billy commented, leaning on the polished veneer of the slim counter space. "But okay, why not?"

"Who wouldn't want to go to a bar at seven in the morning?" Machiavelli said sarcastically. He leaned slightly to the left, feeling incredibly tired. Before them, Lady Day was doing just fine. "She makes an interesting friend," he mumbled.

"Try not to hold it against her," Billy said under his breath. He smiled at the jazz singer. "Like Black Hawk, she has a layered personality. But I know she's good on the inside, just like him. They just get stuck in their ways."

"How is that you don't?" Machiavelli yawned. "All the rest of us are stuck where we've always been and you just keep getting better and better."

"Maybe I'm stuck in my ways too. Maybe you just like my ways," Billy joked. "Wup, she's going to sing for us, I think." He sat up, looking more attentive as she took the stage. "Wonder what song she's going to sing?"

Machiavelli watched too. Lady Day took a dainty step onto the stage, but then sauntered to the middle with no reservation. She turned on her heel to face the thin crowd of the early morning, but even when she waved to the two immortals by the bar, it was like she was already far away. She smiled faintly, closed her eyes and sang:

 _Blue moon you saw me standing alone  
Without a dream in my heart  
Without a love of my own  
Blue moon, you knew just what I was there for  
You heard me saying a prayer for  
Someone I really could care for_

"You were wonderful as always," Billy complimented her when she finished. He raised his coffee cup to her. "I'm always happy to see you sing."

She smiled slow and shy. "You're always nice to me, Kid. I never know why."

"Cause you're my friend, of course." Billy slid off his stool. "Want to actually eat breakfast now?" The other two nodded, so the outlaw led the way out. "Good thing I brought my car," he said happily.

Walking beside the jazz singer, Machiavelli turned her words over in his mind. They, Billie Holiday and him, they had more in common than he realized. He too wondered how the Kid always knew how to find the good in people, even when they didn't know it was there.

~MB~

"Do you even know for certain if there are giraffes at the zoo?" Machiavelli asked Billie as they waited behind a man carrying a large camera.

"Of course," she said impatiently. "My favorite is named Stella."

Billy grinned at him. "Yeah, Mac. How could you not know that?" He laughed when Niccolo hit him in the gut. "Careful, a little lower and I'll never had children."

"I think you'll be alright," Machiavelli said drily. Next to them, Billie laughed. Collecting their tickets, they stepped into the park. The two Billies began to squabble over which direction to go, but Niccolo's attention was caught by the giant elephant statue they were standing next to. He admired the workmanship while the two American immortals looked over the map. _They look almost alive,_ he thought approvingly.

He glanced back at the others when they stepped beside him. "We're going to see the giraffes first," the Kid told him. He looked over at the statue. "What's up? The elephants remind you of something?"

"They do actually," Machiavelli said simply. "They remind of the war elephant statue at the Parco dei Mostri." He trotted along the path Billy'd indicated.

"The what?" Billie asked sharply, jogging to keep up. Looking back, the warlock realized that he was now taller than both of the other immortals who were having trouble keeping up with his long strides. He modified his gait appropriately.

"It's colloquially called the Park of Monsters," he explained to her earnestly. "There's a statue of a war elephant among other things."

"Is a war elephant really a monster?" Billy chimed in. He stopped by the viewing area of the okapi exhibit, forcing the other two immortals to double back or otherwise leave him behind. They decided to humor him, presumably because he had the car and it would otherwise be a long walk home.

"The war elephants not really a monster," Machiavelli agreed. "But the other statues there are definitely grotesque; in fact, many of them are meant to disturb the public and make them ill."

"What are the other statues of?" Billy asked interestedly. He pressed up against the glass, looking in the enclosure for the distant cousin of the giraffe. Momentarily sidetracked, he pointed this relationship out to the jazz singing immortal, who gave a small sanguine nod of her head.

"There are quite a few." Niccolo spotted the okapi before Billy did and hit him between the shoulder blades to get his attention. He pointed to the animal camoflauging itself within the shadows of the trees. Among other things, two giants pulling each other apart, a woman sprouting wings, a mermaid with her tail split in half, two headed hippogriffs…"

"And people called me crazy," Billie Holiday muttered, tugging on Billy's arm to get him moving again.

"The man who created the park made it to deal with his grief. He survived years of being tortured in a horrendous war, only to come back to his dying wife. After she passed on, he commissioned the statues to express…" Machiavelli tilted his head. "A mix of emotions," he concluded finally. "He must have felt a lot of things."

"I think it sounds cool," Billy told him quietly. "Would you bring me there?" he sounded almost shy.

Machiavelli blinked. "I could. Certainly," he agreed. "I'd like to show you Italy."

"Good, you should start teaching me Italian," Billy said happily.

"There's my girl," Lady Day interrupted them. They both jumped when the giraffe in front of them dipped its head over the fence and brought it almost level with their little group, but the Philadelphia resident wasn't fazed in the slightest. "This is Stella," she said, reaching out to pet the ungulates' snout.

"Hello, Stella," Billy said nervously.

"She's gentle."

Billy hesitantly reached out to pet the giraffe's head. _It is a little discomforting_ , Machiavelli thought, _to pet something whose head is as long as your torso._ He hung back until Billy tugged him a little closer. "If I have to do it, so do you," Billy whispered conspiratorially in the Italian's ear.

When they finally coaxed Lady Day away from the giraffes, they began to explore the rest of the zoo. Billy was quite enraptured with the big cat exhibits, amazed by the sheer size, deadliness, and beauty of the enormous felines. He sat in front of the reinforced glass, playing hand games with one Amur tiger who had discovered the immortal.

It was at the lion exhibit though, that Billy's real love was discovered. Following their mother were four year old lion cubs. Even the jazz singer had a hard time acting disinterested. "Mac, can we have one?"

"We've already got two pets," Machiavelli reminded him.

Billie looked over at the Italian. "You do? I didn't see any."

"They're back in Montana with the Flamels," Billy explained, trailing behind the others as they walked away from the big cat exhibits. He put forward a small burst of energy so that he was walking in line with the others again. "I miss them," he told the Italian immortal spiritedly. "Maybe we could stop by the local humane society just to cuddle?"

"Absolutely not. We'll end up with a house full of animals," Machiavelli said, rejecting the idea as firmly and gently as he possibly could. He came to a stop in front of the Amphibian House, a delighted half smile unfurling on his face. "Can we-?"

"Go in? I guess." Lady Day took the lead. "You like snakes, I take it?" she said, leaning in to examine one particular exhibit.

"I do," Machiavelli told her. "It's the scent of my aura. Billy wants me to change it."

"I just think there are other scents that would personify you just as well," the Kid said delicately, looking in the exhibit she'd been peering into and shuddering. To Machiavelli's questioning glance, he hastened to explain himself. "I don't hate snakes, but that thing," he tapped lightly on the glass, "can be found in the Southwest and it's nasty. Bit one of the Regulators I knew.

"Gila monster," Machiavelli read. "A synthetic version of the protein found in its saliva can treat diabetes in humans. Yes, sounds terrible."

"His foot turned this grayish black color and puffed up. He was in so much pain, he thought he was going to die." Billy grimaced at the creature behind the glass. The black and orange reptile flicked his tongue, but looked otherwise unmoved. Exchanging a glance, the other two immortals pulled Billy away from the tank.

"Ugh, this one grows to be 30 feet long." The jazz singer shuddered. She grimaced.

"Am I the only one who likes reptiles in this group?"

Billy patted him on the shoulder. "Yeah. Sorry, honey, I think you're alone." Machiavelli huffed. He made a mental note to come back to see the snakes without his two squeamish companions. "It just would absolutely freak me out to come across that snake when it wasn't in its tank," the outlaw explained reasonably. He took the other Billie by the elbow and led her over to a sitting area.

Machiavelli allowed himself five minutes to prowl among the remaining reptiles before he gave up. "Let's keep moving," he told them, feeling it was unfair to make them wait any longer.

After the dark Amphibian House, the main pathway seemed incredibly bright. Machiavelli stopped outside long enough to let his eyes adjust and to hear Billy's stomach grumble behind him. He looked over at the outlaw. "I'm hungry. I'm a growing boy," Billy defended himself.

"You're growing sideways," Machiavelli chided, poking the Kid between the ribs. "We can get lunch now. If you want," he added courteously, looking at their female companion.

"Sure, let's beat feet." She slipped an arm through his again, and he took her hand. He was surprised at how much she came into contact with him; surprised that she was at all comfortable with him considering her past history and the fact that they'd only met the day before. Still, he was glad that she seemed to like him. "Are we going fancy or broke?"

"Depends on who's paying," Billy joked. They retraced their steps back to the food area of the zoo.

"I assume we're all paying our own way, unless the two of you share food expenses too now." She looked at Billy, who held up a hand palm up and flipped it back and forth in a 'it's all equal' motion. "Oh, come on, really?"

"We've both technically got our own money, but we do share a lot of costs, yeah," Billy said cheerfully. "I'm getting chicken." They split off in their own directions to get food and reconvened under a large elm tree. Lady Day shook her head at a gaggle of girls two tables down. "Blonde bimbos," she mumbled.

Machiavelli looked in the direction she'd been gazing at and looked away again. At least two teenaged girls were looking in their direction with uncomfortably intense gazes. One rather indecently clad girl flipped her hair at him. "I think they like you," he told the Kid.

Billy looked at the reflection in the glass enclosure next to them. "Not me, Mac. You."

"Me?" Machiavelli scoffed.

Billy laughed. "They can get me at any Home Depot in the surrounding area, Mac, but you, you're our sexy Italian enigma." He grabbed the tactician by the shoulder and gave him a little shake. "And who can resist you?"

"Plenty of people," Niccolo protested. Already, he was turning slightly pink. "You're putting me on."

"Want me to give you a deep tongue kiss and scare them off?" Billy teased.

"No!"

"How about me?" Billie said, getting in on the act.

Machiavelli mouthed at the two of them. Lady Day caught him on both sides of the face and planted a kiss full on his mouth. "Oh, I left a little lipstick on you," she said, handing the shocked young man a napkin.

"You're shade of lipstick matches his face right now," Billy observed. "Is he a good kisser?"

"He'd be a better kisser if he'd had his mouth closed," she said decisively.

The two continued to squabble with each other good naturedly, but Machiavelli couldn't help glancing back at the girl at the table behind him. She looked rather offended and shot him a nasty look as if he'd done something wrong. Glancing back at his companions, however, it was Billy's words that stuck with him. _Sexy, huh…_


	9. Chapter 9

"Ugh, my feet ache," Machiavelli sighed, dropping onto the cushion next to Billy.

It was nearly midnight. They'd just gotten back from dropping Lady Day off at her apartment, the outlaw having insisted that he bring her back. She fought the immortal on it, wanting to walk back herself, but he prevailed in the end. Privately, Machiavelli agreed with Billy's choice. While they all were relatively protected by their immortality, he didn't like the idea of the jazz singer walking through some of the nastier parts of town to get to her apartment. Halfway there, though, he had regretted coming along for the ride.

"Take your shoes off," Billy suggested, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. He yawned. "And to think that only," he checked his phone, "nineteen hours ago, we were asleep."

"Take me to bed, Billy," Machiavelli mumbled, not thinking about what he'd said until it was already out there. "I mean," he fumbled with the words. "I think I'm going to go to bed. Are you staying up?"

"Absolutely not," the Kid said, sliding off of the couch. He yawned again, provoking a similar response in his Italian friend. "God, I feel drunk off my ass right now."

"They say that sleep deprivation has the same effect on the body as consuming enough alcohol to be considered legally drunk," Machiavelli commented. He felt some of the wind leave his sail when he looked at the next flight of stairs they had to climb. "What's on this floor, anyways?"

"There's the store room, mostly. I don't think it was supposed to be a storage area, it just kind evolved to be that." Billy flopped on their bed as soon as they got in the room. "I was thinking, we can make it into a bedroom for you."

"Sure," Niccolò agreed, trying to sound like he was excited by the prospect of having his own bedroom. He nudged Billy. The outlaw groaned, but remained face down on the bed. Machiavelli began to change into nightclothes. "Billy." The Kid ignored him, and Machiavelli began to wonder if he'd fallen asleep already. "Billy?"

"Whassup?" The American immortal asked finally, looking up at him.

Machiavelli snapped the elastic on his flannel pants. "Aren't you going to change out of your day clothes?"

"No, I think I'm just going to stay like this until I die," Billy mumbled blissfully.

"That doesn't seem very comfortable."

"Hmm…"

Machiavelli thought that Billy really was planning on staying in those clothes for a minute, as the American immortal just stayed there. Then, with surprising agility, the Kid rolled over on his back. With far more wriggling than Machiavelli thought was necessary, he opened is belt and pants and pushed them down to his ankles, then kicked them off. He sat up and pulled not only his sweater off, but also the Aerosmith shirt underneath as well. "Good enough," he said happily.

Machiavelli realized that he was starting at Billy's midriff for longer than what was socially acceptable among friends and hurriedly focused his gaze upwards instead. The Kid didn't seem to notice Niccolò's prolonged glance at any rate; sleep deprivation was apparently catching up to him quickly.

"God, I'm tired," Billy yawned. He pulled his phone and wallet out of his pants pockets and threw them in the hamper. "Billie's a lot of fun, but she doesn't have the same limits that we mere immortals have," he joked.

Machiavelli grinned at that. He carefully pulled back the covers to get into bed, finally finding the sheet. He slid in, shivering with pleasurable goosebumps as the cool cotton hit his skin. "Today was fun," he agreed. "Let's just hope she doesn't show up at the same time tomorrow."

"Mm hm," Billy conceded. A funny thought struck him and he began to giggle, almost a little madly. "Do you realize we've been awake almost a whole day?" He kept on laughing, almost doubled over with mirth.

Machiavelli began to laugh too, not because the outlaw had said anything remotely funny, but because of the Kid's reaction to it all. Besides, almost everything seemed funny at this hour; he suspected that they were both a little punch drunk between waking up really early and walking around all day. Feeling a little reckless himself, he took a big risk. "I really do love you, Billy."

The outlaw cracked a grin, his eyes still shut. "I love you too, Mac. You're my absolute favorite."

"Do you really think those girls were checking me out?"

"I think women all over the place are checking you out." Machiavelli punched him on the shoulder and Billy snorted. Opening his green-blue eyes again, Billy sparkled before him. "They were, they were."

"Because I'm sexy?" Machiavelli huffed. Even the words felt foreign on his tongue. But his question elicited an even bigger smile from Billy, who nodded into his pillow.

"You are a very handsome man, Mac."

 _Then why don't you love me?_ Machiavelli thought desperately. _That's not really fair though, you're both men,_ he chastised himself. Out loud he said, "You're not bad looking yourself, William."

"Aw, shucks." Billy turned the light off. There was a brief interlude of silence. Then, "Are you cold too?"

"A little," Machiavelli admitted, snuggling lower into the blankets. "Tonight's unusually cold. "Want me to get another blanket?"

"We don't have another one clean."

"Oh."

"We'll have to get another one. Some warmer bedclothes. Clean the one we already had," Billy chattered. "I could go down and turn up the thermostat if you want. It must be set pretty low."

"Nah, va bene. You'd freeze on your way down there. You wouldn't be nearly so bad off if you'd put on pajamas," he chided him.

"Snuggle with me."

"What?"

"Snuggle with me," Billy repeated. He opened his eyes wide. "We're closer than normal friends; it'd be okay."

"Billy, I don't think we're…" But the American immortal was already burrowing into their shared space and Machiavelli had to admit that it was warmer with Billy's arm draped over his shoulders. He sighed, letting himself pretend just for a minute that he was small again and that there wasn't anything weird about this interaction. He wished for the first time, that his transformation had been permanent. It was easier to love Billy back when he'd been small.

"You're thinking too much," Billy mumbled in his ear. "Stop that."

"Can't help it." Machiavelli was still trying to figure out how he felt about this situation. He wasn't aroused by the close contact between them, he decided, which was somewhat surprising because just the other day he'd had a bodily response to watching the Kid roll up his shirt sleeves. And yet now, even with Billy's seminude body beside him, he felt only a rush of affection for the outlaw. _That's alright_ , he felt.

"I haven't had a friend in many years," he told Billy, feeling compelled to explain himself. "You're going to have to tell me if I do something wrong."

"You're not going to do anything wrong."

"How can you know that for certain?"

Billy exhaled, his fingers curling around Machiavelli's. "Cause I love you, Mac. Loads."

~MB~

It was one thing for the two immortals to fall asleep like that when they were massively sleep deprived; it was another thing to wake up the next morning, tangled in each other's limbs. "We've got to set up your bedroom before I do anything inappropriate to you," Billy joked, rolling over to his side of the bed.

Machiavelli shivered with the sudden intrusion of cold air and licked his lips. They felt somewhat dried out after sleeping with his mouth open the night before. He raised his head lethargically. "We were cold," he said defensively.

"Cold? In some states, we're legally married," Billy joked. He rolled off the bed. "I'm going to take a shower."

"Good, you stink." Niccolò snagged his pillow and settled in to get some last minute slumber. He rubbed lazily at his midriff. He was asleep again before Billy had even finished his shower, and thus unaware that the Kid sat by his side for an hour afterwards, deep in thought.


	10. Chapter 10

For the next couple of days, they set about clearing the room on the middle floor. Billy was convinced that the Italian immortal would be happier in this room than in their shared bedroom and Machiavelli wasn't quite sure how to convince him otherwise, so there they were boxing up a myriad of stuff. Still, he deftly delayed the process by asking Billy about all the times in the room. Luckily for him, the outlaw had amassed a whole bevy of possessions.

"Guess you won't want to sleep on the futon indefinitely," Billy suggested cheerfully.

"There's a futon in here?" Machiavelli asked incredulously. He could just barely see the outlaw behind a stack of boxes. "Where?"

"I'm standing on it, it's just under a lot of Star Trek stuff. Look at this, Mac, it's all the original Star Wars and Star Trek movies on VHS." He hefted a huge box onto the pile. "And here's the same on beta tapes." He caught the glance the warlock sent him. "We thought beta tapes were going to be big," he said defensively.

Machiavelli chose to ignore that. "Billy, this box appears to be full of video tapes of The Guiding Light from 1960 and 1963."

"Yeah, me and Black Hawk watched a lot of soap operas in the sixties. Everything seemed better when you were just a little stoned. We can get rid of that box."

"You did drugs in the sixties?"

Billy held up his hand, thumb and pointer finger an inch apart. "Just a little bit," he said with a terrible Russian accent and he laughed. Machiavelli had to laugh too, shaking his head. "Nothing hard. Just a little marijuana here and there to expand my thought processes."

"And did it?"

"It expanded my creativity regarding food," Billy said thoughtfully.

"Ah. This is a uh, very naked woman, Billy," Machiavelli said, unrolling a poster and letting it snap shut again.

"Yeah, you'll come across a few of those." Billy unrolled the poster himself. "You don't recognize Uschi Obermaier?"

"I've tried very hard to stay out of the realm of pornography over the years."

"Not me," Billy admitted without a trace of shame. "If there's one thing I enjoy in life, it's sex. You really don't watch any porn?" Machiavelli blushed and shook his head, pulling a egg crate full of posters out of the corner and passing it to the American. "Well, I don't watch tons of porn, but I will watch the occasional adult movie."

"I suppose there's nothing inherently wrong with that," Machiavelli admitted.

"Look at this," Billy said, pulling an old video recorder from a box. "I forgot I bought one of these. God these were heavy."

"That's a vintage Paillard Bolex recorder, isn't it?" the Italian asked, intrigued.

"Uh huh. And I've got a Polaroid around here somewhere. I wonder where that went…" The Kid looked around the room. "Maybe I should sell some of this stuff."

"We immortals do have the advantage when it comes to antiques.

And so their conversations progressed. Some of Billy's possession sparked inane conversations and some were more intriguing. For instance, under one pile of records, they unearthed a small box that Billy would not let the Italian look out at, scooping it up and mumbling something before he went upstairs with it, presumably putting it in the attic. Machiavelli was dying to ask Billy what was in the box, but figured he'd better glean that information when he could catch the outlaw off guard. He instead continued to needle Billy about the other items.

Billy, in turn, either didn't notice what Machiavelli was doing, or didn't mind his efforts. In fact, Machiavelli got the feeling that while Billie Holiday's reaction to their unique situation had propelled the Kid into action, this sudden desire to have separate bedrooms wasn't a desire that the outlaw felt whole-heartedly. The Italian felt he could capitalize on this; close proximity perhaps being the force that would change their situation. He harbored the secret hope that Billy would develop the same feelings for him that he couldn't deny he felt towards the American immortal.

~MB~

In between their work with the storage room, Machiavelli and Billy spent many cozy evenings in their living room, enamored with their individual interests. The September days were turning chilly as the month progressed into October and though it was nice to head out on the town with the outlaw, Machiavelli found that he almost preferred the nights they stayed inside. He found it strange that Billie didn't show up again, but his Billy explained that she often came and went inexplicably.

Amidst all of this, the Italian immortal was waging an internal war. He had finally admitted to himself that he was indeed in love with Billy and sealed his fate, so to speak, by confiding the same to Scathach. It was a calculated move, telling her. He knew that she was probably already aware of his feelings, had in fact, known long before even he had; making her his confidante gave him the freedom to share his feelings and frustrations with someone else. Still, sharing his secret with the Shadow meant accepting the potential ramifications that the future might bring.

He'd been thinking a lot lately of his son. While they boxed up Billy's old LPs and pushed them to the back of the room's closet (they both refused to put them up in the attic, where they could be potentially destroyed), he was remembering a fact about his second oldest son that he'd previously tried very hard to forget about. Now though, he was ready to admit to himself that Ludovico had had a male lover; previously, it had seemed so difficult to accept, but now, as he questioned his own sexuality, it seemed a lot easier somehow.

"Earth to Mac. Come in, Mac."

"What did you say?" he blurted out, looking over at Billy after realizing the American had been trying to get his attention.

"I asked what you were thinking about," Billy repeated. He waved a hand in the air. "Never mind though, that's probably personal now that I think of it. You just had that look in your eyes."

Machiavelli held up his book. "I've been trying to read, but I guess I got distracted by my thoughts. I was thinking about my son." He closed the book and tossed it on the coffee table. "I like to reread books as it gives me a chance to reflect."

Billy settled into the overstuffed armchair, causing poofs of stuffing to fly through the air. He pulled off his socks with the air of a man getting incredibly comfortable. "Which son were you thinking of?" he asked, pressing his hands together as if deep in contemplation.

"Ludovico." Machiavelli blinked, then smiled. "Every time I came home from a long trip Ludo would throw his arms around my neck and he'd kiss me on the lips. He used to tell me he loved me more than anything in the world."

Billy grinned. "That's sweet, Mac."

"I miss it," Niccolò admitted openly. "He stopped giving me hugs when he was a teenager, but then he started doing it again later in life. Even when he grew up. I'd love to be able to hold my boys again."

Billy smiled slightly. Machiavelli couldn't read the expression on his face. "Children are great. I loved having you in my life."

"Are you ever going to have children?" Machiavelli asked curiously. All indications he'd seen so far said that Billy would have actually been a good father, if a somewhat goofy one. Still, he knew the answer before he was even through asking his question.

The outlaw shook his head. "Doesn't seem fair, does it?" The double meaning behind what he said was not lost on Machiavelli.

"It isn't really, no."

"Did I ever tell you about my daughters, Mac?"

"You had children?" The Italian immortal sat up.

Billy shrank back. "Guess I didn't tell you. I think I told the others about it early on when you were very little. I sort of had daughters."

"How do you sort of have children?" Machiavelli asked suspiciously.

"I fathered three daughters with three different women because… because I'm not a great person, but I was never around to raise them," Billy spoke rapidly, the words seemingly highly unpleasant to him. He looked rather ashamed and Niccolò felt bad, wanting to save Billy from any pain and knowing this was something Billy would probably bear his whole life through. "Technically, one of my daughters was born after I 'died'." He traced quotation marks around the word. "I couldn't very well go to see her, though I really wanted to."

"That's how I felt about Guido," Machiavelli agreed. "Aten didn't tell me until after he granted me immortality that I would have to fake my death. I don't think I would have agreed if he had."

"I wish I had been a better man. Now I'll never have the chance to have children."

"Well, I know it probably doesn't mean much to you now, but you are a better man now. You were really just a child yourself when you first had children. And I think you would have made a really good father." He paused. "So does this mean you have descendants? Why didn't you mention this before?"

Billy shook his head. "I don't have any descendants." His mouth twitched. "None of my daughters lived to adulthood. I kept track of them while they were alive. Left money for their mothers. Consumption got them all. Just like my mother. I wonder sometimes if they got passed down some bad gene through me." He mumbled the last part.

Machiavelli shook his head violently. "Tuberculosis is caused by an infection. It was nothing they got from you."

Billy was quiet, turned in the chair so that he could look out the front windows. Machiavelli glanced out too, looking to see what Billy saw. "Well, thanks Mac. Sorry I got really deep on you like this."

"It's okay. Friends should be able to confide in each other." Billy looked at him with a small smile on his face. The tactician felt that he owed him a confession of his own. "The reason I was thinking of Ludovico was because I never fully accepted an important part of him when he was alive. Now I regret that. Parents make poor decisions all the time."

"You loved Ludovico, all of your children really," the Kid said, sounding confused. "What didn't you accept?"

"I'm pretty sure Ludo was gay," Machiavelli said bluntly. "I turned a blind eye to it. Homosexuality wasn't viewed as a big deal in medieval Italy, at least not during the 15th century. During the 16th century, the Holy Roman Empire made sodomy punishable by death, but still these 'crimes' were usually ignored in general townships. I know my son had a male lover. Knowing what we do now, about sexuality, I feel that I should have supported him more. Looked out for him."

"You did what you did. We can't really change who we were, just who we become." Billy said bracingly. He smiled for real this time. "Hey, Mac, you knew you could teach me a lesson by tricking me, didn't you?"

"I prefer to think of it as guiding you through a similar experience."

"You really think I would have been a good daddy?"

"I do."

Billy smiled so that his face lit up. "Thanks, Mac. That means the world to me."


	11. Chapter 11

After days of endlessly shifting stuff, it was an anticlimactic shock to find the room cleaned out. "We can actually see the floor in here," Machiavelli observed, turning in a slow circle.

"We're not going to get rid of the futon, are we?" Billy asked, siting on said piece of furniture.

"Do you really want to keep it?" The Italian observed the lumpy, fold out couch critically. Admittedly, it wasn't as ugly as some of the other things they'd moved out of the room, either to be put in storage or to be thrown out, and Machiavelli supposed that he should be glad this was the item Billy'd formed an attachment too, but he couldn't image what use they would have for this throwback to the seventies. Billy nodded vigorously. "Well, I suppose it would be good for if we ever have guests over that we don't particularly like."

"I'll have you know this futon is not totally uncomfortable," Billy shot back, beaming up at him. He patted the spot next to him and Machiavelli lowered himself into the seat. The Kid threw an arm around Machiavelli's shoulders. "Did you know that Abraham Lincoln once lay on this very mattress?"

Machiavelli scoffed. "He did not."

"No, he didn't," Billy admitted. "But I did! For an entire month week back in 1968. I lost a bet with Black Hawk, but he gave me a choice- I could sleep on this or I could swim in the Potomac. Given the level of pollution that was rampant at the time, I felt very lucky to be lying on this mattress every night."

"But this isn't going to be my bed, is it?" Niccolo pressed.

"No, I'm going to order you a mattress," Billy assured him.

"And I don't have to keep her on the wall, do I?" Machiavelli asked, pointing to the poster of Uschi Obermeier. "It's not that her nudity offends me, it's just that her nipples seem to follow me wherever I am in the room and it throws me off." He looked at the poster again. "Her hairstyle does offend me though."

Billy laughed. "You don't have to keep Uschi if you don't want to. Even though you will be taking down something that's been on that wall for over forty years…" He paused for dramatic effect, but Machiavelli didn't let him have his moment, so he continued. "We should probably paint the walls in this room, brighten it up a little."

"The wall color is surprisingly not completely awful," Machiavelli commented thoughtfully.

"Not completely awful, I guess I'll take that as a compliment," Billy mumbled. He rested his head on the Italian's shoulder.

"That wasn't a personal attack," Machiavelli hastened to explain. "It's just that I figured since you painted this in the seventies, the walls would be orange or something horrible like that."

"Well, now that you speak of it, Black Hawk did want to paint the walls in here turquoise, but no, I haven't painted this room since the fifties. I stayed here briefly in the seventies, hence Uschi," he gestured to her, "but by then this room had become a storage room. It was a bedroom at one point, though."

"Whose bedroom?"

Billy squinted towards the ceiling. "Oh, what was her name? Betty Dymek and her little boy Donald. She was a waitress in a nightclub Billie sang in back in the 1940s, a long time ago, called Emerson's Bar and Gril. She came into the club one night with her face all black and blue."

"What had happened to her?"

Billy took off his left shoe and felt around inside it. "Her husband was beating her," he said abruptly. "Billie wanted to help, but she didn't want to get killed herself at the time either. Men have always made her nervous. Anyway, I suggested Betty come stay at my place."

"So she did?"

The Kid nodded. He dropped his shoe back onto the ground and reached into his front pocket. "Got a few pictures I found in my nightstand upstairs. Meant to show them to you. Here they are the first day they came here." He handed the photo to Machiavelli who held it carefully by its edges.

Niccolo examined the photo. Betty was a young black woman, very young in fact. She was kneeling, one arm protectively around a little boy in overalls. The Italian immortal winced. Even with the black and white photography, he could make out the discoloration on her face, the unnatural swelling. Neither of them were smiling.

"Looks bad, doesn't she?" Billy asked and he glanced up. The Kid had been watching his reaction. "Don't worry. This is the picture of her the day she left." He handed him another picture.

"That's much better," Machiavelli said, smiling. Lady Day was in this picture, her fingers loosely intertwined with Betty's. The two women were laughing about something; Machiavelli wondered what exactly had sparked their amusement.

The Kid took the picture back. He looked at it too. "I think they were in love," he said. "When Billie got her immortality, she came to me. I hadn't told her I was immortal, but she knew. After that, she asked me to put away these pictures. So I did."

"That's sad."

"It is," Billy agreed. He got to his feet. "I wish things had turned out better." He got to his feet, brushing off his back. "But it was nice while she was living here. I loved her little boy."

Machiavelli smiled up at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Billy gushed. "He was so cute." The outlaw slipped on his shoes again. "Want to go pick out paint now?"

"I suppose we should."

And that was how they found themselves at the local paint store, looking at swatches of paint. Machiavelli spent far more time here, considering his options, than he had at the cabin when they painted the guest house. He supposed that this meant he'd matured since their past painting experience and he felt a little bit better, having sometimes found it disconcerting to not really feel like himself.

"So what colors would you like your walls?"

Machiavelli examined the color choices before him. He felt a little overwhelmed by the hundreds of options and gravitated towards the more mute colors. "How about this one?" he said at last, plucking a light, warm brown off the display. It was called Truffle.

"It's very classy," Billy approved. He ended up picking up several cans of a warm cream color too, for the trim. Machiavelli let the outlaw lead the way once more, knowing that Billy'd be able to know what they needed and didn't need. He followed him down several aisles, helping to carry tarps and brushes when their car became full.

On their way home, they made two stops. The first was to a mattress store, where Billy insisted on the Italian trying out each bed, even a California King size bed that they were obviously not going to get; it wouldn't have even fit in the room. In the end, Machiavelli found a bed that was of the right firmness for him. He felt a little uncomfortable lying down in the store, with other people milling around, especially after Billy flopped down beside him.

"They said they won't be able to ship it until sometime next week," Billy told him as they walked out. _Good,_ Machiavelli thought. He nodded instead.

After the mattress store, they stopped at the grocery store next door to pick up a bottle of wine and a frozen pizza. "This is going to be one classy meal," Machiavelli quipped.

"We're going to have fun," Billy said determinately.

~MB~

"See, I told you this futon would grow on you." They were lying in the middle of the room, tarps all around them on the floor and a sheet covering Billy's beloved futon.

"William, I think the paint fumes are starting to get to me."

"They must be. You called me William again," the Kid scoffed. He flipped onto his stomach and fumbled for his glass of wine. Taking a sip from said glass proved to be inexplicably challenging as Billy grappled with gravity and a slight buzz. "Could be the wine too, though. Good thing we taped everything off before we started drinking."

"That was a good plan," Machiavelli said. He giggled a little. Next to him, Billy laughed too. "Why are we laughing again?"

Billy was suddenly serious. "I don't know. Mac, this room reminds me of coffee. Do you think this is a sign from God?"

Machiavelli rolled off the cushion and crawled to his feet. "We've either got to stop drinking or get into a better ventilated room." He hiccupped. "Probably both."

"Help me up," Billy begged, holding out his arms. After a lot of tugging and groaning on both of their parts, the American immortal was standing once more. "Didn't I tell you we were going to have fun?" he slurred as they went up a flight to crash in their functional bedroom.

"You did," Machiavelli agreed tiredly. He stripped off the t-shirt Billy'd lent him and tossed it in the basket.

"And didn't you have fun?" Billy asked, leaning over to pull off a sock and flopping on his side. He looked over at the Italian. "Mac, you're getting a bit of a happy trail," he pointed out, raising a hand to touch the other immortal.

"I am not," Niccolo denied. He tangled his fingers with Billy's, gently moving his hand away again.

"Sorry," Billy slurred. "I had too much wine."

"Yeah, I thought you didn't drink," Machiavelli said, sitting beside him at the end of the bed after straightening him up again.

"I drink very little, which is why I have no tolerance for it and do silly things when I get drunk. And then I get very, very, very tired…" The Kid put his head down on Machiavelli's shoulder, nuzzling it slightly. He wrapped his arms around Machiavelli's waist, dropping his hands in the Italian's lap. "I love you."

"Well, nobody can say you're not an affectionate drunk," Machiavelli said, wrapping his arm around the other man's waist and pulling him to his feet. "I guess I'll put you to bed."

"That's good. That's great, Mac." Billy blinked a lot and tried to look serious. It lasted about two seconds and then he got the goofiest grin on his face. "Mac, am I wearing my pajamas?"

"Billy, you're wearing all of your day clothes except for that one sock you pulled off."

"Oh, so I am," Billy observed, looking down. "I'm going to take off that other sock."

Machiavelli grabbed him as he suddenly lurched downward. "William, don't you dare." He fumbled with Billy's jean zipper- _feels really strange to undress another_ man- pulled his pants down and then pushed the Kid down on the bed. "I'll take care of it."

"Don't bother with pajamas, I feel really hot," Billy commanded, trying to pull his t-shirt off over his arm instead of his head. Machiavelli let him flail for a solid half minute, more interested by the bulge made in Billy's briefs than the hot mess going on above. _How drunk am I?_ He wondered. Realizing the American was beginning to panic a little, he snapped out of his trance and yanked the shirt unceremoniously off of Billy. "Thank you, Mac," Billy wheezed, looking up at the Italian.

"Don't mention it. Ever again," Machiavelli told him. He realized he was leaning over the American immortal and backed up. "I had fun today. You're still keeping that promise you made to me."

"You asked me to teach you how to have fun," Billy said, scooting over and tucking one leg under the blankets. "You never told me to stop." Machiavelli nodded tiredly. He continued to change into his nightclothes, finally climbing beside the other immortal. He wondered how many more nights he would have, to sleep beside the American immortal without raising suspicion. The Kid broke into his stream of thought. "Mac?"

"Yes, Billy?"

"I get the feeling you're more dominant than I thought, sexually," Billy babbled. The Italian immortal had been burrowing deeper under the covers; now, he sat up to look at the other immortal. Billy noticed nothing. "Good night, Mac. Let's hope we don't have a massive hangover tomorrow." He clicked out the light.

"Good night, Billy."


	12. Chapter 12

Billy looked up from where he'd been reading from his phone. "Where'd you go this morning?"

"Nowhere. Went for a walk," Machiavelli lied. He hung up his coat on one of the pegs in the front hallway, unwrapped his scarf and carefully placed it beside the coat. Taking off his shoes, he turned to find Billy watching him. "Really, I didn't go anywhere," he said desperately. He sat beside Billy on the couch.

The Kid sniffed suspiciously. "You smell good, Mac," he said in a low voice. "What did you do?"

"I bathed, Billy. Remember bathing? You might try it some time."

Billy ignored that jibe. "Something's different and I'm going to figure it out." He crossed his legs under him and looked at the Italian immortal, even going so far as to lift one of the other man's arms, as if to check to see if it was still bendy. "Mac," he said, his fingers still wrapped around the Italian's skinny arm, "where's your arm hair?" Now he just sounded confused.

"I really did go for a walk this morning," Machiavelli said plaintively. "And while I was on my way back, I happened to pass a little shop, which had a special going on until the end of October, so we could bring you if you wanted to and…"

"Is this what I'm like when I babble?" Billy interrupted. He flopped backward and dangled one leg off the edge, but put the other in Machiavelli's lap.

Machiavelli paused and thought about that. _It's always very weird when we switch places_ , he thought idly. "Probably. Do you find this annoying?"

"No," Billy said decisively and Machiavelli groaned. "Continue your story," he commanded. "Where'd you go?"

"Well, all your comments on my," he gestured to his abdomen and couldn't bring himself to say the words Billy had used, "got to me, I guess. So I went in and got a full body wax this morning. I am now completely hairless again and I refuse to feel bad about it; I like being groomed!" He said the last bit more forcefully than he'd intended, but felt confident that Billy was used to his idiosyncrasies enough to not care.

Then again, Billy was staring at him, rubbing his chin, and Machiavelli began to feel slightly nervous. "Did I talk about your penis last night?"

"What? No!" Machiavelli pushed the other man's leg off of him. _Some conversations you couldn't have with another man's body parts that close to your own_. "You kept talking about the hair between my naval and my pelvis…"

"You have a happy trail?" Billy asked, rubbing his chin. Machiavelli grimaced at his word choice again. "I didn't notice before now."

"Billy, why don't you ever remember anything you say when you're drunk?" Niccolò sighed.

Now Billy looked confused. "Why? What did I say to you last time?"

Machiavelli backpedaled. "Nothing. You just seem to suffer a little amnesia after you drink more than one glass of wine. And last time…" Billy waited, but he refused to continue. A somewhat awkward silence followed.

The Kid shrugged. "I've never noticed that before, but I don't drink very much, so I guess I wouldn't know how I act," he said, echoing what he said last night. He brightened. "So you're completely hairless now? Like there's no hair anywhere? You could commit a crime."

"I'm mostly hairless," Machiavelli said, crossing one leg over the other. "And I have no intention of committing a crime at the moment. Maybe later this month. I usually wait for a reason." He begrudgingly accepted Billy's leg again, even when the American immortal put the other one on his lap too. "What are you reading?"

Billy fished his phone out of the space in the couch between the cushions. He'd completely forgotten about it, apparently. "String of messages from Black Hawk from last night. I'd left my phone down here while we were painting; missed them." He scrolled up and down the list, looking at the messages. "He says it's important, but never actually says what's up. I tried calling him while you were apparently," he coughed, "manscaping, but he didn't pick up. I'll try again in a little bit."

"So do you have a hangover?" Machiavelli absentmindedly rubbed Billy's feet. Billy shook his head. "It's still early. Want to go out to get some breakfast?" Billy nodded. "Okay, well get dressed out."

"I am dressed," Billy said, looking up.

"Billy, I'm not letting you go out in that hideous, blue fleece nightgown," Machiavelli said.

The Kid looked at him with his wide, beautiful blue eyes. "Mac, you don't like my Snuggie?" Machiavelli squinted at him, so Billy sighed and got up. He tugged away the fleece cover, revealing his normal street clothes.

"What the blast is a Snuggie?"

"Oh, Mac, sometimes I wish you'd join us in the 21st century," Billy told him as they walked back out into the sunshine. He picked blue lint off his shirt and nudged Machiavelli. "So tell me more about this full body wax. Do you pay by the strip? Like does a hairier man pay more than a man with my, shall we say, perfect amount of body hair?" He jogged beside the Italian immortal. He continued nudging Machiavelli until the tactician grinned at last.

"It's a flat rate. Even a man with your alleged perfect amount of hair would have to pay the same as me."

"Aw, that seems like kind of a rip off when I'm already gorgeous. Here, we're going in here," Billy said, stopping in front of a diner. The Kid dashed up to the door and held it open for Machiavelli.

Machiavelli followed the American immortal into the diner, and immediately came to a halt. The diner, already admittedly tiny, was full of people. "Billy? There's a lot of people in here."

"Yeah, I forgot how popular this place is. I usually went at night, it's a lot better then." He looked at Machiavelli, pulled him against the wall so that they were standing in line with everyone else, and half shouted in his ear, "would you like to go somewhere else?"

"No. You promised me crepes." Billy grinned and nodded. Machiavelli looked around the restaurant. Immediately to the right of the door, below and across from the wide windows, were four booths. They were all occupied. On the walls behind these booths were framed news articles, pictures of famous people who'd visited this diner, records, and one rather obnoxious red neon display of a coffee mug with a cartoon face. "Next table!" an overweight waiter yelled and two very frazzled looking, young parents edged their way past the long line, the man carrying a little girl. The rest of the line shuffled to the left.

Machiavelli leaned out past the Kid to look at the rest of the diner. It was partitioned off, the kitchen presumably hidden behind the wall jutting out in the middle of the space. An impossibly long bar ran down the length of the building with stools regularly interspersed on this side of the counter.

"She's pretty," he heard Billy say in his ear and for a fleeting moment, he felt a pang of jealousy, before following Billy's line of sight to the little girl that had passed them. He felt a little foolish, but the American immortal had not picked up on it. He was enraptured with the toddler who'd caught his attention.

"She's beautiful," Niccolò agreed, feeling a little ashamed of himself. He saw the baby girl looking around the room, a chunk of muffin clutched in her pudgy hand, and he gave a little wave. He got an enthusiastic response- she bounced up and down and gurgled and he beamed at her. "My little girls were beautiful," he told the outlaw as the line shifted again.

He watched the toddler's face fall as her newfound friends disappeared from her line of sight. He hoped she wouldn't cry, but he needn't have worried. Her father made a silly face at her and she forgot entirely about the faces in the crowd.

"Anybody a party of two?" another server called from behind the counter. Billy looked down the line of people, and, seeing no one, grabbed Machiavelli by the shoulder and pulled him to the open spots. He handed him a menu. Their waiter ambled over. "Something to drink?"

"Coffee, black, please," Machiavelli ordered.

"Coffee, not black." Billy waited for their server to move away. He closed his menu, aware already of what he wanted. "If you could have a kid, Mac, would you want it to be a boy or a girl?"

Machiavelli blinked. "What?"

"If you could have a baby, would you want a boy or a girl baby?" Billy repeated. They stopped the conversation again when their waiter came to take their orders.

"Why are we talking about babies?" Niccolò asked softly

"Well, if we talked about what's going on in our lives, we'd run out of things to say before long, so we have to use hypotheticals to keep it interesting."

Machiavelli sipped his coffee. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I don't think I'd have a preference as long as the baby was healthy."

"That's a good answer," Billy said thoughtfully. He pointed out a placemat drawing which had been framed and was half covered by napkin drawings. It was an actually very well drawn picture of a roughhewn man with a shotgun slung over his shoulder. "My friend Henry drew that picture. I wasn't with him at the time, that was back in the 1990s right after the second Young Guns came out- I still think I should get royalties on that- but he told me he left a picture here. We used to eat here in the sixties, a couple of my friends came up and visited for a couple of years. I didn't like the second one as much as the first…"

"How do you know for certain your friend drew that particular picture, if you weren't here when he drew it."

"Well, he signed it," Billy said in surprise. He pointed to the corner where Machiavelli could just make out the initials H.N.B. "Henry Newton Brown. Besides, it's the cover of Young Guns II. Henry hated that movie cause they didn't even give him his own character, they combined him with my other friend Jim French- not an immortal- to make this really lousy character."

"Young Guns is a movie about your friend?"

Billy looked over at him. He accepted his plate as it was thrust at him. "Nah, Young Guns was a movie about me."

"Never heard of it."

"That's fair. There's a lot of movies about me."

Machiavelli heard the bell over the door ring as it was opened. The couple from before was leaving and as they left, the toddler saw him, leaning back. She waved at him, then the door was shut. "I'd want a girl."

"What's up?" Billy lowered his coffee cup.

"I said I'd want a girl. If I had a baby. But I won't." He began cutting up his crepes. "That's not possible. I can't even find someone who'd want to have a baby with me. There's no dating website for immortals," he said very quietly.

The Kid huffed a small laugh. "Do you like your crepes?" he asked.

"They're very good. I'm glad we didn't go somewhere else."

"We didn't end up waiting very long, when you really think about it. There are some advantages to being a group of two people." Billy wiped up his egg yolk with his piece of toast, pushing the egg onto the toast with his fork. Machiavelli resisted the urge to shake his head, watching the American immortal. It would have been considered bad table manners in Italy, to use the bread in that way. But, he supposed, rules were different here.

They continued to banter back and forth until they were done. Billy paid their bill and they left, feeling that they couldn't linger long. "Immortals can't have children, Billy," Machiavelli commented as they continued down the road. "It would be terrible to knowingly choose to outlive your children."

"Yeah, but it's nice to think about… Anyways, I really blame all of this on you."

"Me? What'd I do?"

Billy jammed his hands in his pockets. "I'd resigned myself to the fact that I was never going to have children. Then that thing with you happened," he said, looking slantwise at Machiavelli. "And I realized that you were everything I wanted. Now I see babies everywhere."

"I'm sorry you can't have children, Billy. You made a great dad."


	13. Chapter 13

They continued west down the street. "I didn't know we had a bookstore right here," Machiavelli said mildly, looking at the big chain bookstore in surprise. "How is that possible? Don't we live right over there?" he asked, jerking his head down the path they'd taken this morning, through Rittenhouse Park.

"You probably didn't see it cause of all the trees. We went down Chancellor this morning, not Walnut, which is what we're on now," Billy explained mildly. "Do you want to go in?"

"Not now. I've already got three books to read. But definitely some time."

"Okay, then let's keep going." Billy whistled as they waited at the next intersection. Machiavelli made to turn down their road, but the Kid snagged him and pulled him back gently. He threw an arm carelessly around the Italian immortal's waist, now unable to easily reach the tall immortal's shoulders.

"Why are we going this way? Aren't we going home now?" Machiavelli asked, following Billy nonetheless as he turned away from Rittenhouse Square and walked down Walnut St, heading in the other direction.

Billy shook his head. "Nah, I thought I'd show you a park I used to like to hang out in," he explained. "I used to go there every day in the summertime, the last summer I lived in Philly. I hope it's still there."

Machiavelli trotted along beside the American, and sometimes, in front of the American immortal. He had to keep forcing himself to slow down. Even with him looking around, he was still at an advantage, being much taller than the Kid who had to walk at a steady clip to keep pace with him. "Sorry," he apologized at least twice.

"It's okay," Billy puffed. He grinned. "We're still not quite in sync now that you've gotten so tall again. Oh, Mac," he got distracted. "We should go in there sometime."

The Italian immortal followed his line of sight. "A psychic? Us?"

"Sometimes psychics have experience with immortals like us. It could be interesting. She could help us find our loved ones. Or it could be entertaining. Either way, we should do it."

Machiavelli had a hard time not being critical of that point. Instead, he voiced a question he'd been thinking about since they had arrived in the city of brotherly love. "In the past, when you've lived here, did you live here alone?"

"In Philly? Sometimes. Sometimes, I'd have a buddy come and stay with me for a while. Black Hawk more than any others. I don't really like living by myself, I mean I'll do it, but I prefer having someone else nearby," Billy told him. "That's one of the main draws to coming back here. Cause I like my open spaces, like in our Montana cabin, but you tend to find more people like you in cities."

"I don't really like living alone either," Niccolò admitted. "I was always grateful to have Dagon in my life. You never met him, did you? We had a strange relationship, but I think it was a friendship at the end."

"What happened to him?" Billy asked, quietly because there were other people milling about the street, as they waited for the pedestrian light to change for them.

Machiavelli glanced around. "I assume he's in a Shadowrealm now, since I haven't heard from him. I released him from my services, he doesn't have to come back to me." He paused. "I don't know how I'd address his feud with Scathach now that we've come to be friends with her."

"Why do they hate each other so much again?" Billy rubbed at the back of his neck.

"Age old fighting, I guess. Scatty did kill the rest of his kind. But I think she had her own motives too." Machiavelli knew that the Kid's fierce loyalty would lie with the Shadow, who he knew, versus Dagon, who he didn't, but he hoped the outlaw would be able to draw on his immense capacity to love and empathize. "They've both committed wrongful actions."

"Well, to be fair, we all have," Billy pointed out reasonably. "You and Scatty hated each other for centuries, didn't you? And look at you know. Maybe they could give it up? At least a little."

"I don't know," Machiavelli said dubiously. Looking ahead of them, he thought for a moment that they were going to cross the bridge in front of him, but at the last moment, the cowboy grabbed his hand and turned him down S. 24th St which they traversed for two blocks before turning onto Spruce St. The Italian immortal was just about to ask Billy if he knew where they were going when he caught sight of a park in front of them. "You're pretty good at navigating, Billy."

"This isn't so bad, working through a city. When I was a Regulator we were traveling all over three or four states and that was back when there wasn't really designated roads. I remember one time I was separated from the others and got lost in a canyon for days." He looked up at the canopy of maple leaves above them, a riot of red, and he smiled. "They've done a nice job with this place. It's nicer than it was before. Of course, they've also cleaned up the Schuylkill too," he added, pointing to the river.

"How did you get back to your group?" Machiavelli asked, redirecting him. Billy had clearly meant that first part as a throwaway comment, but he'd only succeeding in peaking the other man's interest more. They wandered around the park, Niccolo waiting for his reply.

Billy looked lost for a minute. "Oh, when I was in the canyon. It was purely by luck that I got out again. But I found a little settlement and there was an old lady there, she took care of me and got me fed and took care of my feet."

"What was wrong with your feet?"

The Kid waved his hand dismissively. "It was nothing really. I guess I'd outgrown my boots- that was when I was still growing- and I didn't have any socks, so… I got a lot of blisters. My whole foot felt like someone had sliced it off."

Machiavelli winced sympathetically. "This was before you were immortalized?"

"Long before! I was sixteen or seventeen at the time. It was very shortly after I'd seen my step-father for the last time- a couple of years, which now that I say it seems longer, but I guess we've just lived so long, now, that it seems a lot shorter." Niccolò tried to picture Billy, younger and on his own, navigating a desolate landscape for days. He moved a little closer to the Kid. "Anyways, that happened a long time ago," Billy said, pushing it off. He began a lively story about a different adventure, which had been a lot more fun from what the Kid was describing. "…Are you listening, Mac?"

"Sorry, I was just thinking. You were still very little," he broke in at last, reverting to their previous topic. He was unable to stop thinking about it, feeling as he often did that he would like to find where the American immortal's stepfather had been buried and give him a good shake.

Billy paused. Having walked down all the paths in the park, he took a seat facing the river and the tactician joined him. "Well, I was seventeen, but I thought we moved on from that story anyways, Mac, weren't you listening to my story about the pigs and John Gardner?"

"I was listening to that story too, but the one before it made me very sad."

"Hmm. Well, it's not really such a sad story. I was taken very good care of. The woman that took me in, she treated me so nice, I thought my mother had come back again for a minute. She hadn't, but I still was very happy, even for just the little time." Billy looked around the park. Already the sun was lowering on the horizon. "You know, what I like about this place is-…" His phone rang at that moment and they both jumped in surprise. The Kid pulled it out and looked at the display. "Oh, it's Black Hawk. He's probably wondering why I didn't call him back."

He hit the speaker button on his phone, waiting for the call to connect. After a minute of it not connecting, he hit the end button. "That was weird. He didn't pick up."

"Do we have service in the park?"

Billy held up his phone so that the Italian immortal could see the screen. "Yeah, four bars. It must be on his end."

"Last thing we knew, he was with the Germains. They'd be in big cities where there should be a lot of service," Machiavelli pointed out.

"Mm, but this isn't new behavior from Black Hawk, he's been known to call me in the past as he's driving through a dead zone and the call gets dropped, then he calls me back, then the call gets dropped again… he'll call again, don't you worry."

"And you don't think it's something important?"

"No, I mean listen to the voicemail he left me last night." Billy played it for Machiavelli, holding the phone between them so they could both hear. "He doesn't sound bad off in it and that was only a day ago." He pressed play. Black Hawk's voice sounded off. _Hey, shithead. Why aren't you picking up your phone? Call me back._ "See, he sounds normal."

"Well, if you're not worried, I'm not worried."

"Good. It's too bad though. I was going to bring you out dancing again tonight, but I guess we should do something where I might actually hear him call me." Machiavelli's stomach lurched at the thought of going to the bar again. _I owe Black Hawk one,_ he thought. He rearranged his features into a politely crestfallen expression. Billy got up, groaning, and reached back to pull the Italian immortal to his feet. "Ready to go home? I was going to read a bit before dinnertime?"

"Sure, sounds good." The park was quickly emptying as the sun slid lower and though Machiavelli was immortal and knew he had no reason to fear those that skulked around the perimeters, they reminded him uncomfortably of the dark creatures he'd encounter, creatures that preyed upon fear and despair. The men setting up tarps down by the river may not have been cucubuths or genii cucullatti, but they would make a nice meal for those monsters. He drew his shirt sleeves down, covering as much of himself as he could, and he shivered.

"Cold, honey?"

"Just a little bit." Machiavelli couldn't help but be pleased when Billy took off his jacket and wrapped it around him. "You called me honey."

"I know. I picked up the habit of using all sorts of pet names with you and then you went and grew up on me. I might never forgive you," Billy joked. "I try to just stick with Mac- that should be nickname enough- but I slip up all the time."

"I don't mind it. I like being, being loved by someone. At least that's what it feels like." He stumbled over the words, unsure if he should be saying them. "I have no special names for you though."

"I think you tend to call me William when you're trying not to be amused, but you are. That's special," Billy suggested. He moved closer to the Italian immortal as the night turned progressively chillier. "We're close to home, don't worry. Do you mind if we stop in here for a minute though?" They paused outside of a used video store and ducked inside.

Machiavelli glanced around the store. The ceilings were very low, and looking up, he realized the tiles were covered with old rock concert posters. Overall, the place seemed rather dingy and crowded, with display cases making it hard to navigate, but Billy seemed to know what he was looking for. He watched the American immortal pull a dvd off the far wall and walk back to him.

"Anything you want?" Cold, Machiavelli shook his head. "Alright, just let me pay for this and we'll be on our way. I was hoping they'd have this one. We can watch it tonight."

Machiavelli nodded, dimly aware that if he wasn't getting so progressively chilly, he'd actually find this store and its myriad treasures interesting. Now all he could think was that even with Billy's leather jacket, he was still feeling the chill that had come with the first of October. He followed Billy back out of the store again.

"So, what are some Italian terms of endearment?"

"I called my wife 'cara,' that means dear," Machiavelli mused. He tightened the coat around his shoulders; it would seem that he felt the cold more keenly than the American immortal who seemed only mildly cool to his frozen. "Sometimes my mother would call my father 'mio angelo' or her angel."

Billy smiled. "I like that one. That's very sweet. Here we are," he added, pulling Machiavelli down their road. "I can see our house!"

Niccolo took out his keys, and reaching the house first, let them both in. He yanked Billy through the entrance, shutting the door quickly. "It's warmer in here," he remarked happily, finally giving the American immortal his coat back. "I think I'm going to read until dinner too."

"Mac-a-whack?"

Machiavelli looked back at him. "What is the matter?"

"You still haven't come up with a name for me."

"Hmm." The Italian immortal took off his shoes and lined them up with the wall carefully. He thought about it as he settled onto the couch, pulling the comforter off the back. "I could call you tato or pucci."

"What do those mean? Poochie, like you're calling me your dog?" Billy's eyes shone, excitement crackling behind them.

Machiavelli shook his head. "No, it's pucci, p-u-c-c-i," he spelled it out for the other immortal. "Neither word really has one set meaning. They're used as terms of endearment to express love where other words fail or are wrong." He got up again, realizing that the room was getting too dark to read in.

"Hm, well don't call me pucci cause that will always remind me of a dog. But I like tato, you should use that. Then we'll be even." Billy rose, having made his decision. "I'm going to take a hot shower. I'll be down in a bit."

"Okay." Machiavelli glanced out the window before shutting the shade. Moving around the room, he lit a couple of the table lamps, giving the room a soft glow. He found one of Billy's sweaters draped over the back of his armchair and pulled it on, more because it smelled like the Kid than because he was still cold. He got back under the comforter.


	14. Chapter 14

After dinner, Billy crouched in front of the television, unhooking the wires leading to the ancient model they'd been using so far. "Getting rid of our television?" Machiavelli asked mildly, watching from a few feet away.

"Yeah, this model is from the sixties. I don't know why I bother putting TVs in all the places I've lived. They end up being obsolete by the time I go back to the place. The way I move around, I mean," Billy grunted, climbing behind the electronic box to unhook a wire that had been caught on something. "Guess I like having the option of entertainment. As a single guy, you can only read so many books."

"I suppose. Did you get a new TV or are we just swearing it off entirely? Cause I kind of thought you bought the movie today so that we could watch it."

"I did get a new one. It's downstairs." Billy looked back at him, flashing a smile. "This will be better for us. I won't have to keep hooking up my laptop."

"I'm not even sure how you've managed so far," Niccolò agreed. He came a little closer to touch the old screen. "Does it even have a place to connect the two?"

"It took a lot of maneuvering," the outlaw said, his voice sounding muffled. He came back out again, brushing dust off his shirt. "Well, here's the useful part of having an aura." He concentrated with his hand on the top, and, his aura spilling out around his hand, the whole thing began to levitate. "Cool, huh? Black Hawk taught me this. You know, Mac," he continued, pushing the television in front of him and towards the stairs leading to the basement, "I remember you saying that you'd train me."

"I told you that I would train you if you promised to be quiet for a minute. And you didn't succeed," Machiavelli reminded him.

Billy waved his hand and for a second, the television looked like it was going to crash into the wall in the staircase before the American noticed and redirected it. "Yeah, but you love me. Of course you're going to train me.

"I suppose I will end up doing it, won't I?"

"You will." Billy nodded. He let the television rest on a shelf in the back of the garage and fished out his car keys to pop the trunk of the Thunderbird. "I promise I'll be a good student." Machiavelli had no reason to doubt this. The Kid's face was lit up with enthusiasm. He had a feeling Billy would be almost too interested in whatever he chose to teach the outlaw. Hefting the new television on his shoulder, the American immortal let the trunk drop with a satisfying thunk sound. "You said you didn't watch a lot of TV, Mac?"

Machiavelli led the way back to the ground floor. "No, really none at all some years."

"So what did you do in your spare time?" Billy asked with some interest, sitting down again in front of the entertainment center.

The Italian immortal coughed uncomfortably. _Boring stuff,_ he thought to himself. "Different things, I guess. I read a lot. Did a lot of research on the Elders and other immortals. Traveled sometimes, in search of artifacts and antiques. Nothing interesting," he said, brushing off the past hundreds of years as if they hadn't existed. _My life didn't really start until I met you._

Billy was nodding as he spoke, fiddling with the new television as they spoke. His back was a straight line, stretching as he hooked up the wires to the back of the slim screen. The new one didn't take up a third of the space that its predecessor had, but Niccolò was far more interested in the way Billy's body moved as he twisted and turned in the small space; it felt almost obscene and he blinked, looking down and away. Billy was talking to him and he felt guilty; he hadn't had much of an attention span since his second bout of puberty. "Sounds good," Billy was saying. "I'd like to travel with you. That's if you want me to, obviously," he added, sudden shyness creeping into his voice. "I never really travel outside of the U.S."

"And I hardly ever came over here."

"Then it's decided. We'll swap experiences." Billy clapped his hands together and got to his feet in rapid succession. "Ready to watch the movie?" he asked, snagging the bag he'd gotten at the little record store that afternoon.

Machiavelli looked around. "Aren't we going to still have to hook up your laptop? You didn't get a DVD player."

"The DVD player's on the side of the TV," Billy explained patiently. He handed the case to Machiavelli. "Put it in for me? I want to change into nightclothes."

The Italian shrugged, getting up. He prided himself on his ability to keep up with technology, but he'd largely dismissed advances in television technology as superfluous, a decision he was now regretting. Glancing behind him to make sure Billy wasn't still there, he turned the television so that the side was jutting out and, leaning down, inspected the series of buttons there.

The power button was at the bottom and he pressed it, expecting the screen to light up. When it didn't he frowned and pressed it again, holding it down this time. The device made a soft popping sound and finally lit up. He released the button, afraid he'd accidentally turn it off again. Figuring out which mode to put it on (and that he had to change the mode) took him a minute, but he was pleased when he finally got the dvd's menu to show up.

"Hey, you figured it out," Billy remarked, ducking back into the room. "I figured that would keep you occupied for the whole time I was changing."

"Well, you thought wrong, I got it right away," the Italian lied smoothly. "Do you want me to leave the lights on or turn them off?"

"Off, I think," Billy said decisively. He snagged the remote from the coffee table. "Have you ever seen Ghost before?"

Niccolò shook his head. He switched off the lights in the room, the only light source now the screen behind him. Settling next to Billy, he tucked his long legs beneath him. "Is this going to be like that other movie we watched? The one that scared me. Sixth Sense?"

"To be fair, that movie wasn't supposed to be scary so much as startling, you were just little. And kind of yeah, come to think of it. There are similar aspects. But Ghost is also funny at times, of course, because it has Whoopi Goldberg."

"Whoopi?"

Billy smiled angelically at him. "I didn't pick her name."

"That's true." Machiavelli settled into his side. "Do you think Black Hawk's going to call again? Or should we?"

"He might call. He might not." Next to Billy, Machiavelli let a big yawn escape. "Going to be able to stay awake Skippy?" the Kid joked easily.

"Mm, I'm just comfy."

"Well, stay awake. This is like a two hour movie." But Billy wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer. They dropped into a relative quietness as the movie began to get interesting. Machiavelli could feel Billy's heart racing from where he was resting his head, the effect distracting him from the opening scenes.

"We should get a record player," he told the American immortal as they watched the great pottery love scene of the movie play out, the Righteous Brothers singing their ballad in the background. He was mesmerized by the physique of both Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore and he forced himself to close his mouth.

"We have one," Billy said after a pause. "Not like that, it's a record player that most people would have had in their homes. But it's broken right now."

"We should fix it."

Billy nodded vaguely. They both watched Swayze getting murdered, the Italian immortal turning his head to give his companion a look. "This is funny?"

"It will be when Whoopi Goldberg comes on."

~MB~

"Is that your phone vibrating?" Machiavelli asked, glancing over at the American.

Billy paused their movie and listened. "Yeah, I think it is." He fumbled through the stuff on the coffee table, grabbing at his phone. "Oh, it's finally Black Hawk." He hit the green button on his phone. "Hey, sorry about not calling you back, I just completely forgot about it. The Frenchy treating you alright?" he asked, leaning back. The smile dimmed on his face as the Native American immortal said something back to him. He leaned forward and Niccolò, who'd been giving him only a cursory amount of attention, sat up and turned to listen in. "Wait, Black Hawk, I'm going to put you on speaker," Billy mumbled.

He set the phone in front of them so that they both could hear the other. "You found Quetzalcoatl?" Billy asked, and Machiavelli felt a lurch in his stomach. He moved closer to the American, staring at the phone.

Black Hawk's voice sounded strangely distorted on speaker phone. "We stumbled across one of his allies at the last city I worked security for. I've been tracking that man since then. So I have a pretty good idea of where our slippery master is." He sounded almost vaguely bored by it all and Machiavelli felt a flash of annoyance. _This was a potentially dangerous situation and Black Hawk couldn't even give it his full attention?_ "Want to go hunting with me?"

The outlaw was quiet, weighing his options. "Course, I'm going to help you track him. But we should have a plan before we head into this." He noticed Machiavelli waving at him. "What do you think, Mac?"

"Billy, you've got to think this completely through," Machiavelli said urgently. "If he lays his hands on you, he could strip you of your immortality. And if you kill your master, you'll be immortal for forever."

Black Hawk broke through. "What's wrong with that?"

"Listen to me, both of you. I'm older than both of you and I'm telling you there's going to come a time when you're going to want to be able to die. Better you should have options than to just blindly charge in and then have to live with the consequences for the rest of time," the Italian said quickly, sounding like his old self. "Besides, there are other considerations. If you kill your master, it's going to enrage my master and potentially a lot of other Elders. We already have a tenuous situation, as it is; it would be much better to sit back and bide our time."

"People who bide their time don't ever get anything done," Black Hawk said loftily. "Listen, kid, I like you, but I don't like walking around looking over my shoulder all the time. And the two of you wouldn't have to be hidden away like a pair of bandits if we got rid of Quetzalcoatl. As long as we get rid of him quietly…"

"You can't quietly get rid of an Elder," Machiavelli retorted sharply. The two of them began to squabble, Black Hawk's brashness contrasting Machiavelli's cool-headed logic. In the midst of all of it, Billy sat, deep in thought.

"Alright," he said at last. The other two went quiet. "I'm going to come out to where you are, starting tomorrow. Mac will stay here."

"What?" Machiavelli was dumbfounded. "Why do I have to stay here?" he asked, truly bewildered. "If you really feel you have to go, I want to go with you. I can help you."

"Yeah, why not bring the Italian?" For once, Black Hawk and Machiavelli were in agreement.

"No," Billy said firmly and Machiavelli's heart sank. "Mac's still relatively disguised as he is right now. They don't know to look for someone in their twenties. If we bring him along, his identity will be revealed and I'm not going to risk that." He continued despite their protests. "I'll come out to you Black Hawk, but we're going to do reconnaissance only. No contact with Kukulan until I sort out a few things."

Black Hawk grumbled on his end, but Billy was resolute. "Don't do anything until I get there."

"Fine, fine. So you'll head out as soon as possible?" After the outlaw reluctantly affirmed that question and suggested six or seven immortals they could gather, they both hung up.

Niccolò sat still as a stone. Even when the American immortal touched his shoulder gently, he pulled away. "Sorry, Mac," Billy said miserably. "I have to go. It's going to be okay though," he offered, ever positive. He waited, but Machiavelli could only nod tightly.

Billy sighed. Pulling his laptop over, he booked himself a flight on the next plane out to where Black Hawk was, consulting the name of the town the Native American immortal had told them. The best he could find was a red eye that would leave the very next morning, at a time when Machiavelli doubted the sun would be up.

Even after the conversation was over, the movie had been ruined for the two immortals. Machiavelli was so upset that Billy had to leave that he couldn't sit still, springing up to pace the room. The Kid watched him quietly, something flickering behind his eyes. At last, the outlaw stood up. "I've got to go to bed if I'm going to get up tomorrow morning at all. Are you coming?"

Machiavelli jerked his head slightly in what would only pass for a nod under the loosest of interpretations and followed the American immortal up the last flight of stairs to their shared bedroom. He doubted he was going to be able to fall asleep, as wound as he felt, but wanred to soak up the remaining time with the other immortal, not sure when the Kid would return. He changed his clothes and brushed his teeth while Billy was in the shower. It seemed like his companion stayed under the faucet for forever before finally coming out.

Billy set his alarm for early the next morning, before flipping his phone over and setting it on the bedside table closest to him. "I'm going to try not to wake you tomorrow, Mac. There's no reason for you to be up when I have to go." The tactician opened his mouth to object, but Billy tapped him on the nose and he unwillingly shut it again. "I'm going to turn the light out. You need it?" Machiavelli shook his head and Billy turned the switch.

The outlaw groaned and shuffled so that he could lie down completely. "What a day," Machiavelli heard him mumble. "It started out so nice." He tossed on his side for a couple of minutes before he seemed to find a position that was comfortable and settled in.

"Do you really not want me with you, tomorrow?" Machiavelli asked quietly, unable to remain quiet for any longer. He flipped so that he was facing Billy. By the slight moonlight, he could see Billy's blue green eyes looking at him kindly. He swallowed. It was always so hard for him to be upset with the American.

"I just think that there's no point in you waking up, just to say goodbye."

"That's not what I mean," Machiavelli whispered. Inwardly, he reflected on his whispering, wondering why they were both being so quiet in a house that only they occupied. He spoke a little louder, closer to normal speaking levels. "I mean that I think I could go with you to hunt for Kukulan. You really shouldn't stop me, I'm an adult now."

"No, absolutely not," Billy said stubbornly. The Kid surprised him by settling a heavy hand on his hip, gripping it as he moved more into Machiavelli's space. They lay almost nose to nose, Machiavelli feeling the fluttering of Billy's chest beneath the blankets. "I will not put you in harm's way, especially not when we don't even know if your aura is completely back to where it should be." They squabbled back and forth, but Billy was resolute. Finally, the Italian immortal reluctantly conceded defeat, though he was very unhappy about the decision overall.

Billy scooted back so that he was lying on his side of the bed. He rolled onto his back, cracking his joints and sighing so happily that Machiavelli raised his head to see what the other immortal was doing over there. "Am I going to have to do a hand check?" he asked grumpily and Billy laughed. He held up both hands, waving them so Machiavelli could see them in the dim lighting. "I just like being in bed," he told the Italian. Machiavelli snorted. "I bet you do," he said back.

After that, Machiavelli assumed that Billy had fallen asleep finally because it was quiet and he couldn't imagine the American immortal being this silent. He tried to be quiet himself, willing himself to stop thinking and drift off himself, but he wasn't tired enough to fall asleep. His arm was pinned uncomfortably underneath his weight and finally, he couldn't take it anymore and flipped over again. Billy's voice came from nowhere, "Still awake, Mac-A-Whack?"

His initial reaction was to jump backwards, but after the initial surprise, he feigned annoyance instead. "I thought you were asleep," he accused.

Billy stretched out, putting his hands behind his head. "No, I was just being quiet cause you were asleep, or so I thought. Who can fall asleep at nine at night?"

"People who are supposed to be getting up at 2:00 in the morning," Machiavelli hissed. "And apparently friends who thought they would be nice." He muffled a groan when Billy blinded him with the light suddenly. He swore a little in Italian, pulling his pillow over his head.

"Nah, this is no way to live," the Kid said decisively. He plucked Machiavelli's pillow off his head. "Let's do something fun."

"Like what?" Niccolò asked suspiciously. He sat up, still using one hand to block out some of the light from the lamp. He got his answer in the form of a pillow to the face. "Ah, che cazzo?" He froze, but Billy grinned and handed him his pillow back.

"We never had a pillow fight when you were a kid," Billy told him, grabbing his own pillow.

Machiavelli tried to dissuade the other immortal from this kind of juvenile behavior, but got another hit to the face and gave up on maturity. "That's it," he said, whacking the Kid maliciously in the face. A free for all ensued, Billy chasing the Italian around the room at one point and the lamp teetering dangerously on the nightstand at another.

Finally, Niccolò managed to pin the outlaw down, whacking him repeatedly with his pillow. Billy was laughing so hard that his face turned bright red, something that wasn't aided by the fact that the taller immortal refused to stop hitting him. At last, the Italian immortal took pity on his counterpart, but only when the Kid started gasping for breath. "Got you," he said triumphantly, getting off of Billy to give him more air.

Billy was still wheezing, but he beamed. "Yeah…"


	15. Chapter 15

Billy managed to turn off his alarm before it woke the Italian the next morning, but ended up waking him anyways when he accidentally slipped getting out of the shower. "Shit," he swore loudly, landing painfully on the ground.

"Billy? What happened?" the Italian asked in confusion, waking up from a sound sleep abruptly. He scrambled out of their sleeping space, the darkness disorienting him.

"Don't get up; it's fine," the Kid protested, but Machiavelli had already pushed his way in. He twitched the towel into place, affording him one last scrap of dignity. "I was really trying to let you sleep in."

"What happened?" Machiavelli asked again, still feeling incredibly sluggish after only a few hours of sleep.

"I fell," the outlaw sighed.

"Oh." Now that the Italian immortal was beginning to wake up, he was also beginning to realize that there was very little between him and Billy's mostly nude body. "I can leave." He turned to go.

The Kid reluctantly called him back. "Ah, well, since you're in here, do you think you could help me up?"

"Sure." Machiavelli paused, not knowing where to grab. "How about," he licked his lips nervously, the skin dried and cracked from sleep, "how about, you put your arms around my shoulders?"

"God, that stings a little," Billy mumbled, grabbing up the towel the minute they maneuvered him to his feet. He goose-stepped around their bedroom a couple of times before it seemed to heal up. Not wanting to appear to be watching the other immortal, Machiavelli climbed back in bed, curling up under the covers once more.

The Kid walked around the room, getting dressed. Lying down, Machiavelli could hear the gentle scrape of the bedside table as Billy retrieved all the items that normally went into his pockets- phone, keys, spare change, his wallet, and the sea shell that the American immortal absently put in his breast pocket. Too soon, it seemed, Billy was ready to go.

"Billy, do you really have to go?" Machiavelli asked, watching Billy pull on his boots.

"Afraid so," the outlaw mumbled. He got up and moved over to where the Italian was still lying down. He leaned over the young man, his green-blue eyes studying Machiavelli's gray ones. "I'm not ignoring what you said last night, you know. The fact that I'm going says I'm listening to what you said, I would say."

"How so?"

The outlaw palmed Niccolò's face, tapping his nose with his thumb. "Somebody's got to keep Black Hawk from murdering Quetzalcoatl the minute he steps in the same room as him." He stood up, fixing his belt, but looked down at Machiavelli thoughtfully. A slight frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. "It's going to be hard to convince Black Hawk that we should throw away a chance to be free forever for something that might or might not happen in the future. I can't imagine a time when I'll want to die, Mac. Can you?"

"Yes," Machiavelli whispered, looking back into his eyes. "And when I reach that point, I'd like to have the option still open." He sat up, kneeling on the bed in front of Billy. He grabbed one of the outlaw's hands, shaking it slightly to make his point. "Just keep that in mind," he begged shamelessly.

The American immortal looked uncomfortable with the conversation. "I will," he promised uneasily. "I have to go now, Mac. I'm going to take a plane to where Black Hawk's waiting," he explained, pretty redundantly, considering Machiavelli had watched him book the flight. "You can use the car while I'm away." He leaned over and pecked Machiavelli on the cheek. "Try to get some more sleep, honey. I didn't mean to wake you up this morning. It's still pretty early."

"I don't think I'll be able to fall back asleep," the tactician protested.

"Sure, you will," Billy said cheerfully. "Here, lie back. Go on. I'll tuck you in." He waited patiently for the Italian immortal to settle back. Machiavelli reluctantly laid back down; Billy positioned his arms on his sides, pulled the blanket up around him, and tucked him in. "Get some more sleep," he repeated. "Watch the rest of the movie, if you want. I made some dinners for you, they're in the freezer."

"When did you do that?" Already his eyelids were drooping again.

"I never really fell asleep after our fun last night. I got up a little while later and made some things. I'd just laid down when the alarm started going off." Catching the look on Machiavelli's face, he hastened to explain. "I'll sleep on the plane. It's a five hour ride." He leaned in again. "I'll be back soon. Give you calls when I can. Got to go now, but don't look so sad, Mac, or I'll never get out of here on time."

"Sorry," he apologized, curling up on his side. He pushed his mask on, hiding his emotions behind a carefully blank expression.

"That's not what I meant!" Billy protested. "Go ahead and be sad; I'm gonna be sad being away from you too. Just behave yourself and don't get in any trouble."

"I'll behave," Machiavelli promised, a light smile playing on his features. "I'm going to miss you though. Got used to my cowboy."

"Ha," Billy laughed. "I was a lousy cowboy. Too scrawny. But I appreciate the thought." He hesitated before giving Niccolo a bone-crushing hug. And just like that, he collected up his bag, raised his hand in farewell, and was out the door.

~MB~

Niccolo didn't think he'd fall asleep again after Billy had left, but he did.

When he woke up for the second time that day, he was momentarily confused as to why the other side of the bed was unoccupied and why he couldn't hear anything from the rest of the house. Then realization dawned through and he had to fight down an immense feeling of loneliness, the emotion tasting metallic in his mouth. Billy was gone and he wasn't sure when the outlaw would be back.

He thought about getting up, but decided against it, burrowing back into the covers. For a while, he lay in the silence watching the sunlight lengthen on the ceiling above him. The patterns in the whitewashing distracted him slightly. He could tell that it was a nice day from the sheer amount of light spilling into his room and a traitorous part of him felt his mood lift.

Looking at the little clock on Billy's bedside table gave him quite the shock- it was already past noon. This was the final push he needed; pushing back the covers, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He stayed like that for a minute, the motivation he'd just seized already ebbing. He pulled himself up before he got stuck there for another hour or longer. "I'm going to buy a bunch of suits and throw out all of his clothes," he mumbled to himself, thumbing through their shared closet. "That would teach him." But he felt no inward malice towards the other man and instead pulled on one of his pullovers. The fabric was soft and comfortable between his fingers; it reminded him of the American.

Machiavelli wandered around the apartment after he got up. Now was his chance to really inspect this place, outside of Billy's supervision. Part of him wanted to check out the boxes the American immortal had unceremoniously brought upstairs, but the other part of him was more interested in connecting with the artifacts that reminded him most of his friend. He looked at all of the pictures on the walls. Sometimes it was just a page the American had pulled from a magazine. He seemed to favor National Geographic, Machiavelli observed, though a few scantily clad girls had made their way up on the wall.

Walking over to the desk in the room they had watched people passing by from, he hesitated only a moment before he began rifling through the drawers. His initial instinct to not mess with other people's possessions was overcome by his innate curiosity.

In the desk, he found the level of disorganization that he had been expecting the whole time he was in the house. His initial surprise at finding a rather uncluttered house was justified by the contents of this desk and its drawers. It would appear that anything the American immortal hadn't found a place for otherwise, had made its way here. It reminded him of the room below, but more congested.

There was a jumble of old bills, with some postcards mixed in. Coming across some old bubblegum cards gave him some pause, but he set them on the top of the desk and continued to explore. He decided he'd better begin to organize the contents of the desk. Old photographs went in one pile, bills more than forty years old were automatically recycled, toys, paperclips, and rocks ( _rocks?_ he questioned) were carefully placed in their own piles to the left.

In the bottom drawer of the desk, he found a collection of well perused adult magazines. He froze, not really sure what to do with them. Part of him considered trashing the desk again so that Billy wouldn't know he'd seen them. Other parts of him were curious about what were in these magazines that Billy had obviously been interested in at one point. Unsure of what to do, he set some aside and left the rest of them in the drawer, before continuing his foray into the desk.

Billy didn't have any cleaning supplies up here, it would appear, so instead of going down to the basement, Machiavelli wet a face cloth and wiped down the flat surfaces as best as he could. He left the drawers open so they could dry out.

Wandering into the bedroom, he decided he'd better make the bed for real this time. The first night they'd arrived, Billy had just stripped the bed of its dusty bedclothes and settled Mac in. For the past week, they'd been too busy doing their errands to bother putting a lot of effort into making the bed. Still, Machiavelli preferred to sleep with sheets neatly on the bed. He folded up the blanket Billy had spread, and put it on the armchair by the window, glad that Billy had thought ahead enough to buy a bedding set for the bed before leaving him. He really had no intention, himself, of taking Billy's car out to look for a department store.

Making the bed took a little more effort than he had thought it would. Before this, his cleaning service had always done up the bed for him. He wasn't very good at judging which side of the sheet went where. Once he was finally done, he sank onto the bed and lay back.

Cleaning the house had kept him busy for most of the day, but now, as his work was coming to an end, he began to feel the telltale signs of loneliness come welling up again.

He walked down the stairs to the kitchen and glanced over the holdings of the cabinets. Billy had tried to get him a few things he could make himself- mac and cheese in a box, pasta, some Asian foods, and half a dozen cans of soup. When he opened the fridge he found some yogurt and fruit. A note on the freezer told him again that there were several meals prepared for him there.

He spent much of the day wandering through the house, not quite sure what to do with himself now that he had all of this alone time.

It wasn't until he banged his knee against the desk on the far wall that he remembered Billy's magazines. Glancing around furtively (for what, he wasn't sure), he snagged the top ones, tucked it under his arm, and padded across the hall to the bedroom again.

He glanced at the clock on the bedside table and decided there was enough time before dinner to mess around. He undid his pants and flopped on the bed, opening the magazine on top. The first one was actually rather tame, he mused, looking at some of the various pinups from what was apparently a World War II rag. He smiled at the antiquity of the imagery.

The next magazine he opened was far more risqué. On the fifth page, he found a red head wearing an apron that covered just barely enough. Flipping to the next page, he found the same woman, but from behind. His stomach dropped a couple inches, a weak fluttery feeling blossoming in the region of his naval. Turning on his side, he slipped a hand under the elastic of his boxers and pushed down with the base of his hand, a small groan escaping his lips.


	16. Chapter 16

Sometime during the night, Machiavelli must have woken up because when he woke up the next morning at half past ten, all the lights had been turned off and the magazine he'd been leafing through when he started falling asleep was tossed on his bedside table. He sat up slowly, blinking the crust out of his eyes, and yawned. "I'm going to have to clean these sheets," he mumbled. _That was not the way I planned on spending my first day alone,_ he thought.

By the time he'd summoned the motivation to get out of bed, he'd changed his mind again. _Maybe that was the best way to spend my first day alone._ Either way, he decided his first stop better be the shower.

He pulled his shirt off as he crossed the room. Waiting for the water to heat up, he held a hand cautiously under the stream before climbing in. He dipped his head under, getting his hair wet, and began working his shampoo in. Leaning against the wall of the shower, he let his thoughts drift. He put minimal effort into completing ablutions, the water pouring down on him until he started to notice a dip in the temperature. Quickly, he used his conditioner, barely managing to get it all out again before the water got icy cold.

Not wanting to shave with only cold water available, he decided to make himself a casual brunch before continuing to clean himself up for the day. He mumbled incoherently as he went down the first flight of stairs. Stopping at the second landing, he happened to glance into the mirror across from the stairs. "Ah, che cazzo?" he groaned, looking for the first time at his hair. Already his hair was beginning to dry, all sticking out at crazy angles.

"I've got to fix this before my hair dries like this and I have to take another shower," he mumbled, ducking into the tiny bathroom on the floor with his bedroom. "Good, good," he said to his reflection. "Second day alone and already you're talking to yourself. You're doing well, Niccolò, very well." He fumbled around in the drawers, looking for a brush and finding everything else- bandages, a very old bottle of hydrogen peroxide, tweezers, and a box of condoms that he seriously doubted were still good.

He ended up going back up the stairs to run a comb through his hair.

 _Alright, you're having a slow start, but this is okay._ He pulled out a yogurt and snagged a piece of fruit, contemplated eating at the bar and decided that despite the light that came in from the high windows, it would be too depressing. He went upstairs instead.

Eating in the living room, he decided that he'd better commit to cleaning up the rest of the apartment before Billy got back. It would take up his time, he hoped, and be a nice surprise for the Kid when he got back. So far, they'd done almost all the rooms anyways. There was now just the dining room, also on this floor, and the rest of the upstairs study. _That's doable._

~MB~

After his brunch, Machiavelli didn't know what to do with himself. He felt that it would be a poor decision to spend the entire day inside, when it was admittedly beautiful outside, but also didn't know where to go or what to do. It had been easy to get in the habit of letting Billy lead the way. He wasn't good at venturing out on his own.

With a certain sense of uneasiness about him, he decided to take a walk around the neighborhood. He felt ill at ease with those around him, marked, as though he was wholly different from them. _There's some truth to that,_ he felt, as he was centuries older than everyone he might meet on the street.

The trouble, he mused, was that he couldn't imagine going back to his lonely life in Paris after all this was over. Before, he'd at least had Dagon to keep him company. Now he would be going back to an empty house. His job he no longer cared much about; they'd sent authorization months ago, putting his second in charge in command. He'd all but retired.

Turning absently onto a tree lined street, he almost walked past the suit shop they'd passed on their way to the Mütter museum weeks ago, but paused and walked back. He looked at the display, a small grin tugging at his lips. He turned around again and decided to consider the idea as he walked around the block.

Whereas in his teenaged "years" he had been impatient to reclaim his suithood, he was a little more patient now. He reflected that at last measurement, he wasn't quite his previous height. About to turn 21 this next weekend, he felt that he could wait out these last minute changes. Still, the idea was very tempting. _Billy would come back and the closet would be full of suits_ , he mused. And the thought occurred to him, _I should get rid of those ties while he's gone_.

He decided ultimately that he would wait another week or so before getting his closet of suits. Billy hadn't banned him from getting that particular article of clothing, he'd just advised against it, and for once, Billy was probably being the wiser of the two.

He ran into a farmer's market one road over and decided to load up. _I need a hobby, this can't be my life,_ he thought as he picked through artichokes and asparagus. Eventually, he decided he had enough and he headed for home, laden down with all sorts of food.

"I can start cooking again," he said aloud, once he was in the safety of his own dwelling. He shoved the bags of vegetables in their dumbwaiter and snagged Billy's laptop from the living room. Climbing downstairs, he set the laptop on the island. While he waited for it to power up, he explored the space a little more.

He was still getting used to living in a brownstone again after having spent his summer in the cabin. Across the far wall was the line of cabinets, as well as the big appliances (the oven, refrigerator, and sink). On the walls that were in the front and back of the house were high windows, the front windows with wooden shutters blocking out their kitchen from the view of the street. Moving those shutters aside, he could see gutters with grating around it.

Behind him, he knew he could go through the heavier door and would find himself in their garage, but what really interested him was the door leading out to the back. He patted his pockets to be sure that he had his key with him- it would be hell to be locked out with Billy halfway across the country- and pulled it open.

The door creaked heavily on its hinges, almost groaning as he pulled it open. Just outside the door were roughhewn stones steps that he automatically decided would be hell to go up and down in the wintertime. Now however, they were just covered in leaves and, on one side, moss. He stepped carefully onto the grass, feeling the grass crunch under his feet- it had been getting colder during the nights and now as evening approached, the temperature was dipping again.

Looking around, he decided that while the brownstone would be a nice play to vacation, it would not be a good place for Billy to live at forever. Living among over a million people might afford them some safety in terms of masking their auras, but it was not nearly big enough to encapsulate all that he knew Billy needed. This tiny yard could not be enough for the outlaw used to the big outdoors. Even for Machiavelli, the neighbors were too close and the buildings, too tall. Though Paris had recently raised its height limits, there were almost no skyscrapers in the city he'd made his home for the past century, making Philadelphia a marked and sometimes unwelcome difference for both immortals.

Glancing over at one of their neighbor's brownstones, the one behind theirs, he was surprised to find that he was being watched by what appeared to be a teenaged girl. He waved awkwardly, wondering how long she'd watched him muse in the back yard. As soon as she saw him looking up at her, she bolted from the window, disappearing behind these hideous pink curtains.

 _Is this going to be my life for the next month? Gawked at by teenage girls until I get old and moldy?_ With one last sweeping look at the yard, he went back inside. Making sure the door was firmly shut behind him, he set the dumbwaiter to go down and turned the laptop around. It was powered up finally and he hit the internet shortcut, looking up potential recipes. When it began to really get dark, he got up to flick on the overhead lights. He finally decided on a chicken capri recipe, unloading the ingredients he needed and putting the others in the fridge or on the counter as needed. He hummed a little under his breath.

 _It hadn't been such a bad day_ , he reflected, getting ready to go to sleep that night. Still, he missed the American immortal.

Despite the re-occuring bouts of loneliness he felt, Machiavelli had to admit the time alone did give him much needed space to act out his sexuality. Going to bed that night, he stripped off his clothes as he went up the stairs, boldly leaving a trail of the various articles behind him.

He shivered in the cold air; the experience not at all unpleasant. He felt a voyeuristic thrill being totally undressed and exposed. Relishing the feeling, he left the shade of his bedroom window up as he moved around the room. He got under the covers.

"Fuck," he mumbled almost immediately. His ministrations from the night before had been largely forgotten over the progress of his day, meaning that he'd just landed in cold puddle of drying ejaculate. Getting out of bed again, he wiped his side with his t-shirt and moved around to Billy's side of the bed.

Pushing back the covers, he found that the Kid had left his nightclothes from the night before on the bed, tangled among the sheets. Extracting them, he dropped Billy's t-shirt on the ground, but lingered over Billy's boxers with undeniable interest.

"Don't be a creep," he said out loud, dropping the undergarments to the floor and climbing under the covers. He turned out the light.

Still though… Perhaps it was the cold cotton or his hormones, but he began to work his fingers down his body, felt the response and with a little groan, reached over the edge of the bed. Feeling around in the darkness, he snagged the briefs again. "I'm definitely going to hell," he mumbled, losing a little self-esteem but reaching a new level of excitement.


	17. Chapter 17

AN: Thoughts or suggestions?

* * *

Getting into a routine by the next morning, Machiavelli grabbed up the magazines from the other day and brought them back over to the study. There, he deposited them on the top of the desk, and set to shuffling the majority of the sorted possessions back into their correct drawers. The drawers, now dry and organized, were pushed shut as he worked his way through the task.

He had purposefully left the magazine drawer for last, and now, having organized the rest of the desk, he reached into the drawer, pulling out stacks of older subscriptions. His intention was to put the magazines he'd already perused on the bottom and work his way through the rest of the stack as the week went on. What he wasn't expecting, was to find a gap underneath a final stack of magazines, a space where he knew there was still room left in the drawer, but there was an end to Billy's old periodicals. He pulled the final stack out and, looking into the drawer, was intrigued to find an old photo album. He went to pull it out and-

The phone rang. Distracted, Machiavelli got up and wandered back to the bedroom where he'd left his phone. "Hello," he said, opening it and holding it to his ear. He smiled faintly, hearing Billie Holiday on the other end of the line. He listened, one hand slipped into his pocket, as he looked out at their backyard. "I would love to have lunch with you, actually. Where would you like to go?" Billie gave him the names of several restaurants nearby his location and he sighed in relief. He'd been afraid for a minute that he would have to drive Billy's 'baby' to some unknown place, but the other Billie had agreed to pick him up at the brownstone.

After hanging up, he held the phone to his thin lips, tapping it lightly. The sudden call had made him feel a little guilty about snooping through the American immortals things.

Glancing at his watch, he realized he'd better start getting ready if the female immortal was going to come over at twelve. As he shaved, he pondered his predicament. Billy'd obviously made him so accustomed to human contact that he had just accepted what was essentially a date with a woman that he'd been slightly afraid of even when in the company of the American immortal. He was now apparently so desperate for an interaction with a person he knew that he'd blindly accepted spending the afternoon with Lady Day. He snorted, lathering his face with shaving cream. _What are we even going to talk about?_ he wondered as he scraped those few errant hairs that dared grow off his face.

He pulled the light gray blazer over his white button down shirt, remembering when they'd gone to the club and what had almost happened that night. As if to ward away thoughts of what might have been, he painstakingly tightened and straightened his tie, reaffirming the boundary between that night and now. _That night was nothing but a mistake,_ he told himself sternly. _Put it out of your head, Niccolo._

It had taken him less time to get ready than he'd thought it would. Glancing at the clock on Billy's bedside table, he was surprised to see that he still had a half hour before the jazz musician was supposed to show up. Grabbing his shoulder bag and a notebook Billy'd bought him, he settled on their front steps where he wrote about the passing pedestrians as he waited for the other immortal. The feeling of words spilling out from his fingertips felt familiar to him, like an old friend. Mindless though his activity might be, he felt invigorated.

He ended up jumping when Billie showed up ten minutes early, so engrossed in what he was doing.

"Hey, jumpy," she said loftily, sitting beside him. "What the hell are you doing?"

Machiavelli snapped the journal shut, smiling over at her. "Ah, just free writing. Something to do while I was waiting." He got up, brushing off the seat of his pants. He proffered his hand to her, surprised when she took it. "Where would you like to go?"

"Let's go… to Victor Café," she decided, pulling him in the right direction. "I'm glad you dressed up. This is a nice Italian place for a nice Italian boy."

"Billy never brings me to Italian restaurants," he commented, following her. He laughed. "I think he thinks I won't be happy with American takes on Italian meals."

"Well, this place has been here since 1918, so I think they've had time to figure out their shit," she commented. "I was in mood for Italian this morning and since you seem to be taken, I decided we'll just eat Italian food."

"I seem taken?"

Billie ignored this. "Of course, now that I'm thinking on it, I don't know why I didn't just have you make me something."

Machiavelli huffed a laugh. "I did just start cooking again. It's been nice," he said, suddenly shy again. He looked down at their feet. "Are you really comfortable, walking over in heels?" he asked with some concern.

She glanced at her feet as if she'd forgotten what she was wearing. "No," she said, surprised. "But I look good. You should try it, sometime," she purred, a smirk spreading over her features. He shook his head, nonplussed. "You ever wear something feminine? Panties?"

"No," he yelped, blood rapidly rushing to his face. _God, I hope she's just teasing_. "No, not in any way. Why do you ask things like these?"

She linked arms with him as they crossed the road. "It's the easiest way to make you stutter. And you're a cute stutterer. I like you; you're a pip. In fact, do you mind if I call you Pip?"

He mouthed at her. She pushed his mouth shut. "I'm just kidding, dollface. Here's the place."

They stepped into a café with flowers in the front and a green awning over the second floor balcony. Glancing up, he noted the angels in the architecture. They were led by the head waitress into a room with a dark wall paneling, the walls almost entirely covered with black and white portraits, and were seated at one of the many tables covered in a red and white checkered tablecloth.

"What are you going to get?" she asked him, glancing through the menu.

"I don't know. Ah, maybe linguine and clams. I haven't had that in a long time…"

He was relieved to find that it was easier to talk to the jazz singer than he'd thought. They settled into another conversation and with some occasional redirecting on his part, they talked comfortably.

~MB~

After his afternoon with the jazz singer, it was almost a relief for Machiavelli to find himself alone again. He spent the time before dinner beginning the process of cleaning the dining room and finished after he ate a late meal. The easy activity left him in a meditative state. He started his task by cleaning the glass of the French doors that separated the living room from the dining room. With those clear once more, he moved on to the furniture, polishing the sideboard to a high shine.

His work kept his hands occupied, but it could not control his racing thoughts. He thought of putting on some music to block out the nagging voices in his head, but didn't want to stop what he was doing to retrieve Billy's laptop. That reminded him of the record player Billy'd said was broken, up in the attic, and he resolved to bring that in to get fixed. _Perhaps they could do it at that dingy record store we were just at the other day,_ he thought as he worked.

Finishing up, he thought about calling someone, any of their friends, but decided it against it. Picking up his phone, he tapped it against his lip. Looking at the clock, he couldn't bring himself to disrupt anyone's life at this hour. He felt the dull sense of solitude settle on his shoulders.

As he was going to bed, he felt the cold pull of the night wind. He glanced at his window, but, finding it closed tight, remembered suddenly that he'd left the window to the study open. Crossing the hall, he flicked on the light, intending only to shut the window and to go to bed. Once he was there, however, he was reminded of the photo album he'd seen that morning, the one that he'd not opened, but instead left in the open bottom drawer of the desk.

He hesitated, but then pulled the album out of the cavity. He let the heavy weight of the book rest on his knees, unsure if he should continue, but wanting desperately to know what was in there. A horn honked on the street below and he leaned back on the piece of furniture, glancing out the window.

His innate curiosity overcame him and he opened the top cover. Almost immediately, he slammed the book shut again. His heart thumped loudly in his chest and he wished he'd left enough alone, wished he hadn't opened the window this morning and hadn't started cleaning out the desk. More than anything, he wished Billy hadn't left in the first place.

Unwillingly, he opened it up again. There, on the first page, was a series of pictures of a woman, sitting in what he recognized as the bedroom across the hall. Clad in a Phillies jersey, she sat with her heels together, grinning at the photographer. Billy, he assumed. Between her legs, he could make out the dark black tangle of her untrimmed pubic hair. The photo below showed her leaning back, her chest stuck out and an even better view of her nether regions.

Unable to stop himself, he turned the page where he was confronted with a different woman, just as beautiful as the last. This one had nothing overtly sexual about her- she gazed at the camera with a shy smile, her left arm tucked around a narrow waist; still, he felt an indescribable pang glancing down at her photo. Billy'd gone to the effort of getting this picture printed, had pasted it onto the page- surely that meant he'd had some feelings for her. 'May 1965- Bonnie' was scrawled in Billy's neat cursive beside the picture.

He paged through the first quarter of the album, a feeling of unease growing inside of him. _Put it away_ , he told himself, but found that he couldn't break the 'one more page' mentality guiding his actions.

He received the motivation he needed at last about twenty pages in. A strange twist in his stomach greeted him as he gazed down at Billy, his outlaw, leaning against the Thunderbird. The familiar shy smile across his features, the Kid held a cowboy hat strategically in front of him. Next to the photo was an unfamiliar scrawl, which read, ' _Thought I'd add this to your collection of nudes. Handsome fellow, isn't he?'_

Underneath the picture was the same handwriting. ' _And here's one of me- Jeanne_.' A Polaroid of a willowy girl, arms crossed under her bosom, her face forever tilted towards the camera, it stared up at him. He dropped the album like it was poisonous, feeling a cold shiver run through his body. He was unsure what to do, but a rattling wind reminded him that he'd been cold. Turning, he shut the window behind him at last.

He felt unsettled.

Sliding off the desk, he couldn't help but pick up the album and, closing it properly, put it in the desk drawer. The magazines, he put on top. Grateful now that he hadn't undressed yet, he decided to take a walk around the block, his mind racing.


	18. Chapter 18

He kicked the drawer shut, leaving a scuff mark on the wood. He regretted his action instantly and stepped away from the desk, feeling like his head was reeling. _What's wrong with me?_

Wandering downstairs, he tried to think of other things, but his mind lingered upstairs. _Who was that last woman? How serious was it between her and Billy?_ He rubbed at his temple, trying to brush away the thoughts in his head. Almost immediately he thought of another woman Billy'd told him about before- Erin. _These women might have only been a picture in an album, but he spent a lot of time with her._ He remembered Billy saying that her family had thought he was going to marry her and he groaned out loud.

 _I should have realized this a long time ago_ , he thought bitterly. Of course Billy was attracted to women. He'd never said otherwise and Machiavelli felt like a fool now, placing hope in one drunken experience that had happened weeks ago. His stomach twisted into knots. He turned on the TV as he passed the living room, just for some other sound in the empty house.

"You can't go outside right now, you live in one of the most dangerous cities in the country," he told himself. "You can't even use your aura without attracting something more sinister."

Eventually, it wasn't enough and he decided to go out, explore the city as it were. Billy and he had started to look around before the American had been called away, now he decided to finish what they'd begun. Grabbing his jacket and the keys to the brownstone, he shut the door firmly behind him and wandered down the road.

It was a little more intimidating navigating the streets himself than he had thought it would be. Most people he passed would be of no imminent threat, he mused, but the thought was hardly reassuring when confronted with the more frightening individuals. One street he was unfortunate enough to turn down had two crowds on either side of it, people just sitting on their front stoop and gathered on the sidewalk, not doing anything and certainly no threat to him, but menacing in their sheer number. He stepped through quickly, willing himself not to look at either group, and cursed in his mind. Billy had warned him there were roads and neighborhoods to stay away from, why hadn't he listened? _Wandering around in the middle of the night, Billy will kill you when he finds out._

He breathed easier when he wound down two streets more and found himself in a busy market street. At least here, there were people, drunk, bar going people, yes, but people with a purpose and a reason for being there, people who were uninterested and unaffected by the lanky young man in a button down shirt.

He kept moving. When he at last began to shiver in the cold, he decided to turn back. He pulled out his phone to check the time, but found that it was dead. Glancing at his watch, he was surprised to find that he'd been out walking for almost two hours. Goosebumps covered his arms and he rubbed at them roughly. The whole experience seemed to have both dragged along, and hurried by, and he felt a little discomfited by the whole experience. He realized that he'd reached his limit of independence, with loneliness filling in the hole Billy had left behind.

When he got home to the brownstone, he wandered through the house, looking into all of the rooms and trying to dispel the sudden sadness he felt by turning on all the lights. He wondered if this was what Zelda felt, and what the female immortal was doing now. _Perhaps we should try to visit more often in the future_ , he thought faintly. Heading upstairs he wondered what to do with himself and before he could stop himself, had picked up the landline and was dialing, motivated by an overwhelming urge to hear from Billy. He dialed the phone, figuring that even if Billy didn't pick up, he'd at least hear his voice from the voicemail.

He was rather surprised when Billy picked up after the second ring. "Billy?" Machiavelli's voice sounded small on the phone. He could hear it echo back in his ear on the landline from the apartment.

"Mac!" _At least Billy sounded excited to hear him._ "What's up?"

The Italian immortal swallowed a little. "Not much. I just missed you." Though he knew that the immortal on the other end couldn't see him, he still flushed a little, knowing that he sounded very vulnerable at the moment and that if Billy did the math, he would realize it was currently three in the morning. All the things he had wanted to say up to this point suddenly seemed fairly stupid.

"I miss you too, Mac," Billy said warmly back. There was pause where all Machiavelli could hear was the crackle of the landline. "Is something wrong though? Your voice sounds a little funny."

"No, I'm okay," Machiavelli replied instantly. He injected some enthusiasm into his voice and started climbing up the stairs with the vague intention of lying down on the bed, at least while they talked He hoped Billy would stay on the phone with him for a little while. As he went up the steps, he turned off some of the lights he'd turned on, feeling the shivery feeling from before go away.

"You're lying, Mac."

Machiavelli actually smiled at that, appreciative in that Billy had come to know him so well. "I'm a little lonely without you," he confessed. _The understatement of the century_ , he added silently. He worked very hard to make his voice neutral for his next question. "And- Are you almost done?"

"Uhm, I don't know for sure. We're closing in on him." Here Billy broke off for a minute. Machiavelli could hear him talking to someone else in the background, presumably Black Hawk. He came back on the line, his voice loud over the crackle of the line. "We thought we had him trapped, but there was a bit of a scuffle and he got away. He's not too happy with me though."

"Are you alright? Billy you promised you were just going to do some surveillance" Machiavelli scolded sharply. There was an intake of breath before Billy answered him that the Italian did not like.

"Yeah, honey, the situation changed a little. But, you know, adventure suits me well," Billy said breezily. Machiavelli exhaled. He could actually hear the smile in the other man's voice, meaning that no matter what, he wasn't that bad off. "I actually cut off his tail and tongue, one slice. I told you I wasn't done with him that day; I don't like anybody threatening me. Of course," Billy continued, "I'm missing my baby, but…"

"William!"

"Alright, so you're getting bigger now. I meant what I said though." Billy's voice got momentarily serious. "I miss you loads."

Machiavelli lay down on the bed, keeping the phone cradled by his face. He closed his eyes, letting Billy's voice wash over him. "I miss you," he repeated again.

"So what did you do today?"

Machiavelli shrugged, then realized Billy couldn't see him. "I cleaned some more. This place is really a mess," he chastised. He skipped telling the American about the hours he'd spent looking over the magazines. Or the discovery of the photo album. "And I just went for a walk." "You went for a walk? What time is it over there? Were you careful?" Billy broke in. He scolded the Italian. "There's some unscrupulous people in the city with you."

Machiavelli held the phone away from his face for a minute to give it an incredulous look. "Really, Billy? You're now actively hunting down your Elder master, but you're worried about me taking a little stroll?"

"Hey, I'm allowed to worry," Billy defended himself. "We're not sure how much of your aura you can actually access and use right now. You could get in serious trouble if you were ever cornered by some thug. I'm allowed to look out for my best boy…"

Machiavelli let him continue on in this vein for some time, smiling at the righteous indignation in the young immortal's voice. "Hey, Billy," he broke in finally. "I have been practicing my aura a little bit. Nothing big that would attract attention to me," he added hastily, heading the American immortal off. "Just enough to be sure it's still working."

"And how's it going?" Billy wanted to know.

"It's fine. I can do a lot of my old tricks, I just can't make them last as long." He thought of this morning, how he'd levitated a spoon at breakfast and scowled, thinking of the moment when it had dropped. This was actually a point of contention for the Italian, though he smoothed it over in his conversation with the American. His inability to last, both with his aura and his body, was a source of annoyance for the Italian, who held himself to high standards.

"That'll come back with time," Billy said bracingly. "You'll have to show me your tricks when I get back."

"Yeah. Yeah…" Machiavelli's voice faded out and he coughed.

"Niccolò, what's wrong?" Billy's voice was soft and sweet in his ear and Machiavelli closed his eyes, wanting to feel the American's affection without restraint, but the image of that woman, all those women really, they kept entering his head. "Niccolò-"

"Hey, Billy, I should let you go now."

"No, come on, Mac, talk to me," Billy begged.

Machiavelli shook his head. "No, uhm Billy, I've got to go. Be safe, will you? I- I miss you." And he hung up before the American immortal could talk him in to staying on the line. He lay, looking at the designs on the ceiling. He jumped a little when he heard the phone ring, but instead of picking it up, he ignored the ringing. After five rings, it stopped.


	19. Chapter 19

Machiavelli didn't plug his cell phone in until the next morning. Turning it on, he was only slightly surprised to find that he had four messages waiting for him. Scrolling to his voicemail, he hit play.

Billy sounded worried in the first call, increasingly upset in the second and third, and almost a little angry by the third. Machiavelli sighed, holding his phone in his hand. He thought about calling the American back, but glancing at the clock, decided instead to not. He knew that Billy would have wanted him to call, regardless of the hour, but he couldn't explain himself to the American immortal.

He dropped the phone back on the side table. Rubbing his eyes with his fist he tried to move past the current situation to a place that wasn't so lonely. _Scatty might know what to do_ , he thought suddenly. _Or at least she might be sympathetic, knowing what she did._ Glancing at his watch, he was frustrated to find that it was still fairly early to call the Shadow either. He wasn't so much worried that he would wake her, whom he doubted was actually sleeping, but rather was afraid that he'd wake the Flamels who worked a regular schedule and probably didn't need to be woken up in the middle of the night.

"Get something done," he mumbled to himself. Booting up the computer, he set about to finding a place in Philadelphia that would fix Billy's record player. He couldn't say what his intentions were exactly, but he felt that this would be the right thing to do. Finding a place at last, he retrieved his phone and set up an appointment to drop off the player for the next day.

Feeling slightly better about himself, he finally got dressed.

Knowing that he'd have to drive the record player in, he felt that he'd better practice driving again. He felt a little queasy at the thought of it; he'd never driven the car without Billy and the fact that he had the American's permission didn't make him feel any more confident that he wouldn't crash Billy's baby to bits and pieces. He decided that if he was going to practice, it wasn't going to be on the busy city streets of Philly, but rather, out in the open country where he would at least not have to worry about pedestrians.

He felt an uncomfortable swoop in his stomach, navigating the car out of the garage and after closing the garage door, he searched his GPS for the nearest pathway out of the city. He wondered if Billy got this claustrophobic feeling, living in the city when he was meant for wide open spaces. He was surprised to find that he felt that way- he'd lived in major cities for hundreds of years now and had never had a problem before. He pushed away the nagging feeling that it wasn't the city itself that was making him uncomfortable, pushed away the unwanted insight that there might be something inside of him that wasn't happy with the situation he found himself in, and pulled out onto the road, letting his phone tell him where to go until he reached the city limits, where he turned it off again.

Turning on the radio, he realized one of the reasons he missed Billy the most was the absence of noise. Months of Billy's near constant chattering made the silence of the brownstone almost deafening. He left the station unchanged from what it had been programmed on and was pleased to find that he vaguely recognized the artist singing, previous trips with the outlaw giving him experience. The familiarity made him feel like the American could be sitting next to him, if he just chose to look next to him.

Gradually, the road condensed down to just one lane. Exhaling, he felt increasingly better as the city slipped away behind him. Philadelphia had made him think far too much about the past and the future and where he fit in with each, but here, with clusters of trees increasingly zipping past him, he felt his mind clear and his mood lift. Even though the day was fairly cool, he unrolled his window, letting the wind whip by him.

Feeling adventurous, he began to stray from the main road a little more, cutting through several small neighboring towns and eventually found himself in the little town of Bristol. He would have probably continued through this town in a similar fashion, but for a tiny library he found by the river. Bordered on both sides by a well-manicured little garden, he pulled off the road and got out to investigate it more closely.

He couldn't say exactly what had drawn him to this little athenaeum in a nowhere town, when he had his choice of libraries, book stores, and private collections back in Philadelphia, but he felt significantly calmer out here. Glancing behind him, he pulled his bag out of the backseat, locked all the doors to the car and casually strolled into the main branch.

Looking around, he estimated that the entire library was maybe the square footage of two of the floors in their brownstone, but he liked the room immediately. There was one library at the desk in the middle and she was engrossed in her own book; he moved towards the back of the building and sat at a table by bay windows which overlooked the river. The Italian immortal smiled as he pulled out his journal and began to chronicle his summer adventures; the respite reminded him almost of his years spent in exile. That had been both a stressful time and a joyous one too. _Perhaps I like a little conflict in my life_ , he thought idly.

He produced an envelope full of the pictures that Billy had taken of him and the others during their summer months and, flicking through the stack, came across the one he wanted to write about- a picture Scatty had taken of them swimming in the lake. Holding it carefully by the edges of the picture, he studied the image, a small grin tugging at his features. He remembered that day- it was the day he'd lost the bet to Billy and somehow won it as well. When the time came, he could ask Billy any question in the world and the American would have to answer it truthfully. _Hmm…_

Gazing out at the water, he realized he was getting distracted by the light reflecting off the breaks and bluffs of the waterway. He set the picture down and began to write. _'I thought I was winning the race, right up until I ran into Billy, sitting on the raft with that damn Cheshire grin on his face and…'_

After the race story, he wrote about the night that Billy had sat up eating ice cream with him and reading books, and after that, the time Scatty had rode horseback with him, and after that, some of the bad stories, when he'd fought with Billy, letting the entire summer spill out before him. He felt the remainder of last night's tension slip away as he wrote. The girl behind the circulation desk didn't seem very interested in him, something he was grateful for, instead helping out a mother and her young son, reshelving books at one point, writing something of her own at another, but never once asking him if needed a book or what he was doing or hurrying him in any way. Getting up to stretch his legs at last, he decided he'd like to do something nice for her.

Pulling, his checkbook out of his breast pocket, he filled out the majority of the information beforehand, leaving only the amount unwritten. He gathered his possessions together, stuffing the notebook in his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. Gracefully, he loped over to where she was working.

"Hello," she said, looking up at him with a smile. "Done for the day?"

Machiavelli had to admit she was rather beautiful once he was standing before her. "Yes," he agreed shyly. "I wanted to thank you for letting me use your library. It was a very nice day."

She beamed. "Well, I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. Are you new in the area?"

He smiled, embarrassed by the attention. "You might say that. A friend of mine and I, we just moved to Philadelphia, but it's such a big city…"

"It's nicer to be in smaller setting," she finished for him. "More wide open spaces," she added. She brushed her short hair out of her face. "Can I help you with anything?"

"Ah. Well, I had such a pleasant afternoon, I wanted to ask if the library had any projects that need a donation." He turned slightly pink and hitched the bag up further on his shoulder.

"Well that would be very nice." She got out of her seat and stretched backwards to grab a binder. "You want to donate to a project? We've got one that we're focused on right now, our children's section was recently damaged by some flooding… we're looking to buy back some new books, perhaps you'd like to buy one…"

"How much does the whole project cost?" he asked, trying to keep his voice casual sounding.

"Altogether?" He nodded. She looked at the ceiling, seeming to perform some calculations in her head. "Altogether, the project is going to cost about $3,000. We've raised over $300 already- that's a lot- and we're going to do some more fundraising next month, which will be our 296th anniversary as a town. People here have been really good about buying a book or two; every little bit helps."

Machiavelli fished his checkbook out again. "I'll write you a check," he said. "I trust you to pick out the books better than me…" He grinned slightly, scrawled down the full amount needed and carefully pulled the check out along the perforations. "Here you go. Have a nice day." And he turned to go.

She must have glanced down at the check cause he'd only half made it to the door before he heard her shout in surprise. "Wait," she said, hurrying around out of the desk. "I don't even know your name," she said, coming to stand in front of him.

"Oh, call me Niccolo," he said, again embarrassed by all of her attention on him. "It's nothing really."

"It's everything. It's the full amount."

He rested a hand gently on her shoulder. Truly, she looked nothing like either of his daughters, so why then did she make him think about them? "Well, like I said, I had a lovely afternoon. I might come back sometime, bring my friend. I have a feeling he'd like it here." He moved his hand, afraid that he'd invaded her space too much, too quickly. Vaguely, he remembered that Americans were big on personal space and he didn't wish to offend her. "Really, it's nothing. I think you have a wonderful library." After a few more interchanges, he managed to make his retreat.

Exiting the library, he was surprised to find the sun so much lower in the sky. He checked his watch- half past five. The sun would be going down in another hour and he felt glad that he'd decided to leave now, rather than wait for it to get completely dark. He shoved his bag in through the window and then, climbing in himself, rolled up the window completely and turned the heater on just slightly, a chill hanging on the air now.

He felt a small moment of panic, trying to figure out how to get back before he remembered that he had the GPS app on his phone, had used it that morning. He rummaged through his bag for the phone and finding it, turned it on. Feeling a little silly, he punched in the address for their Rittenhouse apartment and pulled back onto the road. He laughed at his momentary panic and reasoned that technology had been a later addition to his life; though he greatly enjoyed the modern conveniences of the world, it still wasn't always his first instinct.

Getting back to the city was much easier than he thought it would be, and he was forced to admit that he hadn't gone near as far on his "adventure" as he thought he had.

Almost back, he decided that while he was out, he might as well buy food for dinner. Stopping at a roadside market, he snagged an eggplant, a couple of ears of corn, and some tomatoes. Moving down the market, he bought some spices and herbs, seriously doubting that the outlaw had parsley at home.

Moving away from the market, he found a small bakery, almost a hole in the wall, which he ducked into. He breathed in the fresh scent of bread and bought a small loaf of Italian bread with a small tin of garlic butter thrown in on top. The woman behind the counter was kind, but reticent to talk overly much and really, he was ready to be home again, so the Italian immortal kept moving. With the groceries weighing him down, he decided to head back to Billy's brownstone at last.

He coasted back into the city just as the sun had finished dropping below the horizon. He made a mental note as he got the car into the garage that if they were to spend any long period of time here in the city, he'd prefer it if they fixed the door to the garage so that it went up without them having to get out. Pulling the door shut behind him, he secured the locking system and edged his way through the cramped room to the kitchen, where he breathed much easier.

He dropped the bag of groceries on the counter and tossed his bag in the corner. Flicking on the overhead light, he had to admit he felt better, having spent some time away from the city. Driving around had been more relaxing than he'd thought it would be; the only bad thing was the general sense of guilt he felt when he considered Billy. Without the American immortal's help, he wouldn't have known how to drive at all.

Sitting at the island, he fished his cell phone out and turned it on. Scrolling through the initial screens, he typed out a short message to the American and pressed send. Minutes later, he got a 'hey' back. Wanting to do the right thing and not knowing what it was, he typed 'Sorry about the other day' and began to get dinner ready. Hearing it buzz, he flipped the phone up to look at it. Billy had wrote four words that made his heart beat fast. 'I'd like to talk."

His fingers hesitated over the screen, but he knew that really, he owed the American immortal that much in return. 'Sure,' he wrote back.


	20. Chapter 20

AN: Reviews motivate me to write quicker!

* * *

Pressing send on his last message, Machiavelli almost dropped his phone as it immediately began to buzz. _Billy didn't waste any time_ , he thought wildly. He came to the wry conclusion that the American immortal must be worried he'd change his mind if given time. Reluctantly, he answered it. "Hey," he said, his voice low as he was a little ashamed of how he'd left things the other night.

"Mac! Why haven't you been answering my calls?" Billy wasn't quite shouting, but he was very forcibly talking. The Italian got the idea that Billy was trying to keep their conversation somewhat quiet, presumably for the sake of someone on his end, rather than to comfort him. "I've called you like six times!"

"Well…" Niccolò felt a flush rise to his cheeks. "I had my phone off for most of today," he was able to say honestly, because he had purposefully turned off the device during his time at the library. He stalled while he tried to decide what the best course of action was. He'd tell the other immortal the truth, he decided, but only if Billy asked him specifics. "But you want to know why I had it off," he supplied with a sigh, finally concluding that since he couldn't slip away from the accusations of the other warlock, he might as well attack it head on. He could only hope this would throw Billy off.

It didn't. "And why you hung up on me yesterday," Billy said promptly, already sounding much calmer. There was a pause where neither immortal spoke. Machiavelli opened his mouth, about to give an explanation when the Kid, who had far less endurance when it came to long pauses, began speaking again. "Are you mad at me?" the outlaw asked softly, surprising the Italian immortal.

"What? No! How could I be mad at you?" Niccolò said with honest surprise.

"Oh, I don't know. I thought maybe you were upset that I didn't listen to you about coming out here and was mad at me…"

Machiavelli closed his eyes. Billy sounded almost pitiful and he realized that he'd left his American cohort with all of today to wonder what was wrong; in a way this was almost worse than what had happened to him with the photo album. Billy had done nothing wrong to him, but he'd let down the other immortal by pushing him away. "I-I…" he sighed in frustration and changed directions, "…no. It's nothing you did that's wrong…"

"But there is something wrong isn't there, Mac?" the Kid pressed him.

Machiavelli sank to the floor, all thoughts of making dinner leaving him. Suddenly, he didn't feel hungry at all and he wondered how he'd ever be able to face Billy after making the scene he couldn't seem to break out of, the interaction he was currently entangled in.

"Where are you, William?"

"Kansas, if you can believe it. We've been traveling by lye gates. Mac, please don't push me away. I'm not an idiot. I know when you're changing the subject."

"I know you're not an idiot," Machiavelli said, feeling increasingly terrible. All of the inner peace he'd built up today at the library was slipping away again. "It's just- I know you can't help me with my problem; I just have to work through some issues. I've been… having these thoughts."

"What kind of thoughts?" Billy asked sharply. "Niccolò, are you taking care of yourself?"

"Of course. I eat and sleep and everything," Machiavelli replied, bewildered. "Oh, you think- no- not those kind of thoughts- it's really inconsequential, Billy. Nothing big at all." There was silence at the other end of the phone line and his skin crawled. "Billy, are you still there?"

"I'm here." The Kid's voice was low and gentle, the way it had been when Machiavelli's body was still very little and he'd been sick. "Mac, would you like me to come home? I can put this, this thing I'm doing right now on hold-"

"That's not necessary." Machiavelli tried to make his voice as normal as possible. He couldn't say exactly why he didn't want the American immortal to come back now, when just two days ago he was longing for the former gunslinger's companionship. Now, however, he felt a slightly queasy feeling, the same one that had persisted since he'd found Billy's old photos. "I'm doing okay, really I am- I've started a new hobby. You'll see it when you get back eventually."

"Oh, yeah? What?"

"Cooking. I haven't done any cooking in a long time. Except for what I did with you, while you were here."

"What did you have for dinner tonight?"

Machiavelli breathed a big sigh of relief. He was glad the American had let them slip into their normal conversational flow. "I haven't eaten yet," he admitted. "I'd just gotten home from the library and I saw all your messages, so I wanted to get back to you." _Because I'm still pathetically in love with you, despite all the good reasons not to be._ "What have you been eating?"

"Nothing good." Now Billy sounded a bit disgruntled. "If I eat one more bologna sandwich, I'll go ape shit crazy."

Machiavelli leaned his head against the wall, a smile breaking through his features. "So you're saying I should change the planned menu for when you get back to something not bologna related?"

"I'm saying we should put all the bologna in this country in trucks and then drive the trucks into the ocean. We'll have to sacrifice a few people in the process, but it'll be okay in the end. It's for the greater good of everyone that we rid this country…"

"I love you," Niccolò said softly.

"Oh- what was that, Mac? I couldn't quite hear you on my end," Billy stopped babbling.

The Italian immortal shook his head. "I just said I missed you. The house is very quiet without you."

"I thought you told me that I talk too much," the outlaw teased.

"I was wrong. You talk just enough to be perfect."

"Aw, Mac, I'm blushing. I was just thinking the other night that I missed your listening. I like my buddies here," he lowered his voice, "but we all talk over each other. There's not a lot of give and take. Like the other day, I was trying to tell my friend Jesse about the summer we had and he let me get two words in, and then he was off talking about something else and I never did end up telling him the rest of my story. Hey, Mac?"

"Yeah?"

"Am I keeping you from eating? It's almost dinner time here, and that's if you have a late dinner. Shouldn't you have eaten already?"

Machiavelli glanced down at his watch. "This would be a late dinner for Americans, but still early for Europeans. Anyways, I'm not really hungry right now."

"So, you're not going to tell me what's wrong, huh?"

"I will if you guess what it is specifically," Machiavelli said frankly and ignored Billy's frustrated sputter.

"Give me a hint," the Kid begged.

"Let's just say there's a body of proof and leave it at that."

"You're speaking in riddles. Hmm, I'm going to have to think about this and get back to you… We should talk on a more regular basis," he added thoughtfully. "Like every three days or so."

"I'd like that." And, to make the conversation a little lighter- "So you're with a group of people?" Machiavelli worked hard to keep any trace of jealousy from his voice.

"I am. Black Hawk's here, Doc Holliday, Jesse Evans, two cowboys- I don't think you'd know them at all, but they're good guys- and one of the old Regulators I used to ride with."

"I thought you were the last Regulator left."

"I thought that for a long time too," Billy admitted. The ambience around him changed slightly; the outlaw had apparently gone outside because Niccolò could hear crickets. "Fred Waite had been a Regulator, a good friend of mine actually, but he went back to his people and turned his life around. I thought he died a natural death in 1895- there weren't a lot of details- imagine my surprise when Black Hawk mentioned like fifty years later that he'd met the guy!" Billy sounded a little indignant.

"Why didn't Black Hawk tell you earlier?" Machiavelli asked curiously.

"I don't know!" _Yes, Billy definitely was not pleased about this particular detail_. "He gave some lame excuse about not knowing that we'd known each other…"

"It must have been a very strange experience to find out that a friend of yours was still alive after so much time," Machiavelli said sympathetically. He crossed one long leg over the other, leaning against the wall. "I had a similar experience with a writer I knew… it's a disconcerting feeling. Obviously, you're glad that they're still alive…"

"But it makes you feel strange inside. Like they didn't care about you that much, to just let something like that slip by," Billy agreed.

"Mm. Hey, Billy, what are you doing right now?"

"Right now? I'm looking at the stars. They're just beginning to come out now." Machiavelli glanced out the window to the backyard. It was already dark over here; he just hadn't noticed. "Go outside," Billy prompted him.

"Why?" the Italian asked, already climbing to his feet. He brushed off the seat of his pants as he moved around the bags of groceries towards the backdoor. If he was going to go outside, he'd rather risk breaking his leg in the obscurity of twilight than potentially get mugged on the well-lit sidewalk in front.

"Cause I think you should look at the stars too," Billy told him.

Machiavelli climbed up the steps and stepped into the underutilized outdoor space. He turned his thin face up towards the burgeoning night firmament, feeling a little silly. "Can't see much," he admitted, shielding his eyes, as if that would help him.

"Aw, that's cause of all the city lights. That's the problem with living all surrounded by lights and houses and cars. We should live somewhere in the country next," Billy decided. "That is, if we're going to continue to move around together," he added shyly.

Machiavelli was torn. For one fleeting moment, he felt he should say something mean, that he wanted to hurt the American the way he had been hurt. The feeling went away almost as fast as it had come. He felt a slight twist of shame. "I think for the time being, we should just assume we're going to continue to live together," he said mildly. "I promised I'd train you once my aura was back and besides, I like the companionship."

"Me, too!" The Italian could almost feel Billy's smile coming through; the feeling was strangely painful. "Oh, Mac, I don't know how much longer I'm going to be out here. We don't seem to be getting any closer to doing whatever it is that Black Hawk wants us to do. I don't know why I'm out here! What am I supposed to be doing, Mac?"

Niccolò was surprised to hear the frustration in Billy's voice. Up until this moment, he'd assumed that the Kid was enjoying his adventure. "I don't really know, tato." He opened his mouth, wanted to say words to comfort the outlaw, to tell him what to do, but he didn't think there was anything he could say to improve the situation. "So you don't know if you're going to be away for a while?" he asked despairingly.

"No. No," Billy decided. "I'm going to stay a week, maybe two weeks more, then I'm going home. It's not worth it, all these little skirmishes."

"Really?" Machiavelli couldn't mask his surprise.

"Yeah, no. They're making Black Hawk feel better and the other guys are bored, so it's fun for them, but me… am I changing, Mac? I think I would have acted differently a year ago." The American immortal sounded uneasy.

"A year ago, you had a better relationship with your Elder, tenuous as it was even then," Machiavelli reminded him. "And I think you're just getting a little more cautious. That's not a bad thing."

"I guess so." Machiavelli could almost seeing Billy rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess it's just kind of scary to change, especially when you've been the same for so long. You know?" The Italian made a little noise of agreement. "Oh, well. I've got to go eat, Mac. You should eat too."

"Yeah, okay."

"I'm serious, now. Next time I call you I'm going to ask you what you ate."

"Billy, that's ridiculous." Machiavelli found that now that he had to let the outlaw go, he really didn't want to. The day of avoiding the other immortal's texts and calls seemed very silly now.

He could have been imagining it, but he felt that the Kid didn't want to hang up just yet either. He kept talking, regardless of the fact that he'd been the one who said he had to go. "Are you feeling a little bit better now?" Billy asked worriedly.

"Yeah, I'm better. I just needed someone to talk to, I guess. William?" He faltered. He wanted to say that he loved him, but found that he couldn't. Unable to say that, he didn't know what to say. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

"I know."

"You know?"

"Yeah, me too." Billy made a clucking noise. "We spent a lot of time together. I know what's in your head. For the most part, at least, except for this thing…"

"Well, good," Machiavelli said dizzily.

Billy cleared his throat. Machiavelli thought he was going to get something personal back, but all the American said was, "eat your dinner. Get some sleep. I'll call you soon." And the line clicked out.

Gazing up at the night sky, Machiavelli pocketed the phone. Unable to see the stars, he made a small noise of frustration and pirouetted so that he was facing the house again. He closed the door smartly behind him and stooping, retrieved the bag of groceries. _Do I feel better or worse?_


	21. Chapter 21

When the Italian immortal woke the next morning, his mind was blissfully blank. He tried to remember the exact moment when he'd fallen asleep last night, but found that he could only track his wakefulness up to a certain point before it all became confusingly commingled with his drowsiness.

Still, he found that to his surprise, he was in a better mood now that it was a new day. The weight of the comforter rubbed against his developing erection and he wiggled his hips to explore the sensation. Without much hesitation, he kicked down his shorts and, raising his body slightly, slipped off the t-shirt he'd slept in and let it drop down beside the bed.

His younger body was affording him more sexuality in one half a year than he'd felt in the past decade and he had to admit that despite the occasional loneliness and self-doubt, he couldn't deny that he was having fun.

The blanket had been pushed back when he'd taken off his shirt and now he deliberately left his chest uncovered, letting the chill of the early morning arouse him further. He tweaked one nipple, teasing it by flicking and rubbing it, and slipped his other hand below the blanket.

His body thrummed with pleasure.

He withdrew his right hand from the covers only to suck on his digits until they were suitably wet for his purpose. Feeling close too close to climaxing for his comfort, he gently tugged on his balls, relaxing slightly in the process. He continued to work his body, confusing thoughts of his wife and Billy playing on the edge of his mind. Had he been in his normal frame of mind, he might have found the oscillation between the two a touch upsetting, but for now he was too excited to read deeper into what this amalgamation of desire might mean.

~MB~

Despite missing the other immortals and his confusing feelings towards his most constant companion, he couldn't say that he was having a bad time necessarily. By the middle of that week, Machiavelli had found a pleasant little café to eat lunches in. He got in the habit of waking up midmorning, bathing, and wandering down the street, a book in hand.

It wasn't the same as his time with Billy, but sitting in the café did afford him some human interaction that the Italian otherwise would have lost entirely in the outlaw's absence.

Today, he carefully ate the French onion soup, noting that while it certainly wasn't on par with what he could have had if he'd been in France, this wasn't low quality. He kept his book open on the table before him, not really reading at the moment, but using it as a prop. It made him feel a little less lonely, like he had a purpose, with the book in front of him. Occasionally, he would turn the pages of the book to keep away suspicion, but the words slipped away from him like water in his hands.

Glancing at his watch, he kept careful track of the time. The mattress Billy'd ordered before leaving was scheduled to come in in today; he'd gotten a reminder text this morning. Preparing for it to arrive had helped his troubled mind focus on something outside of the situation he'd found himself in.

The bed was supposed to be dropped off at 13:00, so by half past noon, he decided he'd better head back to the brownstone. Glancing at his clock one more time, he gathered his stuff and began the walk back to the brownstone.

He was surprised, on his arrival, to find the girl from behind the pink curtains, presumably their neighbor, waiting on his front steps. He almost considered walking right by the house, to avoid sheer awkwardness, but too late- she'd looked up and seen him looking and they made brief but awful eye contact- and he knew that he'd have to talk to her.

"Hi," he murmured, wanting to be polite, but also wildly wondering why she was there. _Should I mention seeing her the other day? No, better to pretend that it didn't happen._ "Can I help you?" he asked, hoping against hope that she had something purely neighborly in mind, but remembering at least one night where he'd discovered her spying on his bedroom window and feeling a flush rise involuntarily.

"Maybe you can," she almost purred, and Machiavelli's instincts to run away screamed at him, goading, begging him to walk into the street perhaps and pretend to get hit by a bus… _It would be hard to explain to the other neighbors, but perhaps he could find a new place to stay for a while_... "My name's Melissa. My friends all call me Missy. You should too."

"Well- Missy- it's nice to meet you, but I have a delivery coming soon, and I just wanted…"

"You have a gorgeous accent. What are you, French?"

"Italian," he sputtered. "And I have a delivery coming…" he trailed off, correctly assuming that she'd stopped listening. He feebly gestured to the door behind him.

"I think Italian men are sexy." _Just a moment ago, you thought I was French,_ he thought crabbily. He actually shook his head at that. _Focus, Niccolò -this isn't the issue at hand- but there are more languages than French- Focus!_

"Can I help you with something in particular?" he asked again, trying to edge around her up the stairs. _Billy'd know how to get rid of her,_ he thought wildly and for not the first time that week, but perhaps more keenly than ever, he wished the Kid was here and he was wherever the outlaw was, if they could not be together.

She ignored that. "You haven't told me your name yet," she said accusingly.

"It's Niccolò," he revealed reluctantly. "Shouldn't you be in school, Missy? You're what, 16?" He deliberately lowballed her, knowing that it would likely annoy her, which would throw her off balance and give him he advantage.

"I'm turning 18 in two months," she snapped defensively. He saw he'd struck a nerve and he gave her a charming smile now, glad to still be able to manipulate people, if only on some level. He'd been afraid that Billy had worked the deceit right out of his heart and that would have been a shame when there was still people, people like this, who could only be dealt with using some form of trickery.

"You should still be in school. It's the middle of a day on a Wednesday." Never in all of his years had he felt as old as he did in that moment, but still, scolding her had reminded him that he'd once been a father to teenagers and he smiled. Lately he'd been feeling rather cast about, but in that moment, he'd been sure of himself again, if only for a fleeting moment. He opened the door with his key and glanced back at the fuming teenager. "Have a good day," he said with surprising merriness and closed the door with a snap.

Leaning against the door, his smile faded as he wondered what his life was coming to. Desperately, he wanted to see if she was still out there, but he felt this would only encourage her should she catch him in the act. _Perhaps, I misinterpreted that situation,_ he thought next, feeling a pang, _and was inexcusably rude. Hmm_. _I'm going to have to call Billy and see how he'd interpret that conversation._

He fished his phone out of his pocket, began to dial Billy's number and remembered the photo album. Besides they had just talked last night... He ended the call without finishing dialing. Frowning, he went through the doorway and down the stairs to the kitchen where he set water on the stove to heat. The phone, he put on the counter.

Fetching a mug from the upper shelves, he looked for their carton of tea leaves and was dismayed to find they had only tea dust left. Unwillingly, he got down the box of tea bags that Billy'd deemed 'just as good' and put two in their kettle. Waiting for the water to boil, he picked up his phone and tapped it against his lips.

 _Of course. Why hadn't he thought of it before?_ He could call Scatty, should in fact, call the red-haired immortal. He'd missed her terribly, almost as much as he'd missed Billy, and they'd been separated for even longer.

He glanced at his watch. The movers were going to be arriving any minute. He could call her after that.

Indeed, the thought had barely crossed his mind before he heard the deep gonging of the doorbell. He switched the stove off again with a sigh and climbed up to the main floor. Pulling the door open, he was relieved to find that it was actually the deliverymen and not just his now irate neighbor. He directed them to the floor above, staying out of their way for the most part.

Sitting in his front hallway, he glanced at the disappearing backside of one of the young men hoisting the mattress up the staircase. And felt nothing. ' _No, that's not true; you feel a certain amount of relief, don't you?'_ he mused to himself. _Your feelings towards Billy, they're an enigma, but you're not ready to completely change yourself._

"Just move in?" the older man asked cheerfully.

Machiavelli smiled. "About a month ago now, but we've been busy trying to clean it up in here. As you might notice, it's an uphill battle." He gestured around the house.

"Ah, you'll get there in the end," the mover- his nametag read Lawrence- said pleasantly. "My wife and I, we're still moving things around the house. You never find a spot for everything… Hey, John! You almost done?" They both cocked their heads to hear the response. There was a vague shout from the second floor and Lawrence, who seemed to understand the words better than the Italian immortal had, nodded his head. "My son," he told Machiavelli, affection apparent.

"It must be nice to be able to see your son every day," Machiavelli told him, _and it was nice_ , he thought. _I spent too much time away from mine_. He waved the thought away, unwittingly making a small gesture with his hand.

"It is. Hey, you alright buddy?"

 _Americans_ , Machiavelli thought fondly. "Yes, sorry, I just had something else on my mind."

"Ah, well, I think we're all done. You let us know if you need anything else, now." He handed Niccolò the folded up bill and collected the rest of his stuff.

Machiavelli leaned on the doorway. "Thank you. I will," he called down. He watched the van pull away from the curb and glide down the road before he closed the door behind him.

Heading up the stairs, he entered what was going to be his bedroom. They'd set up not only the mattress, but the furniture that Billy'd ordered. He had to admit, it was a nice room, but he still preferred the little bedroom upstairs where he'd shared a bed for the last month with the outlaw. _It's more normal this way, though_ , he thought regretfully.

Loosening his tie, he grabbed the bed set he'd bought that morning out of the closet and began pulling out pieces. _What is all this stuff?_ He wrinkled his nose. _You're almost five and a half hundred years old and you can't make a bed on your own, maybe you should focus on learning how to do normal things…_ The fitted sheet was giving him trouble and vaguely, he wondered if the two men who'd just left would make up his bed for him if he called them back with a promise to pay handsomely. _No, come on! There's only so many ways to put this sheet on; you've just got to commit Niccolò!_

Eventually, he got both sheets on and the comforter, and after some difficulty, the pillows too. Stepping back to survey the results, he shook his head. Never had he seen such a poorly made bed before. "I should have paid Dagon more…" he mumbled under his breath.

~MB~

That night, he finally got around to calling the Shadow. She picked up after two rings.

"Hello?"

"Scatty," he said, genuinely glad to hear her voice again. He pictured her, maybe lying on the couch in the living room, or else in the room they'd painted for her, and felt a rush of fondness settle over him. "It's Niccolo," he said unnecessarily.

"Hey, you! You guys haven't called me in like a month! What gives?"

"I've been meaning to, really I have." And he had. _But why did you wait a month?_ "I was actually hoping you might come visit me. I have a little problem."

"This is something I can answer that Billy can't?" she wondered into the phone. Machiavelli could tell from her tone that she wasn't trying to brush him off but was genuinely confused.

"Billy's not here right now." Quickly, he detailed where the American immortal had gone and why. At her prompting, he described the past couple of days for him, what he'd been doing, how he'd spent the days. He couldn't help but admit to her his growing sense of loneliness. "…It would be nice to have you here for that reason, but I also have another… interesting situation that having you around might help with. And there's something I want to show you, I can't tell you about it over the phone, but… will you come?"

"What's the interesting situation of which you speak?" she asked curiously.

Machiavelli turned red. "There's, there's a girl that lives in the brownstone behind us. I ran into her today, in front of our house, but I don't think it was a chance encounter. She's taken some interest in me…" He trailed off, thinking how ridiculous this must sound. "She's too young to even entertain these notions, but she won't relent. Will you help me out?"

"You want me to act out the part of your girlfriend," she worked out shrewdly.

The tactician hadn't figured on it in terms such as that, but after some thought he realized that was essentially what he'd been asking her to do. "I just need some help… firmly discouraging her. She's a nice girl, I just- please stop laughing at me- I just really want to see you, Scatty. Please come."

"Alright, hot stuff, I'll come out to see you. It will be nice to see you again." He nodded in agreement on his end. "I'll have to work it out with the Flamels; they'll have to drive me to the airport and I'll have to see when I can get the next flight… I'll text you the details when I find them out, okay?"

"Okay. Scatty… thank you," he said sincerely.


	22. Chapter 22

Somehow, knowing that Scatty was going to join him soon, even if it wasn't going to be today, lifted his spirits irrevocably. From the sound of it, Scatty might not actually join him for a couple more days, but that would give him time to prepare the house, and give him something to look forward to in the process.

He wanted the house to be clean for Scatty when she came to visit, so Thursday morning, he put on some of Billy's work clothes and got serious about his cleaning. The brownstone was beginning to look like a home; now he wanted to finish off the last few stubborn messes.

 _The first thing to do is assess what is left,_ he decided. The two bedrooms were now relatively clean, the living room was probably the most put together out of all the rooms, and the kitchen was, by necessity, free from clutter. He'd begun cleaning the study the other night. That left the bathroom on the second floor, the dining room on the main floor, and their garage, which he mentally had assigned to the Kid. "Basically two rooms, I can do this," he told himself.

Despite the relative chill in the air, he opened all the windows to the house. Going down to the basement, he retrieved a bottle of wood cleaner and a bucket, which he filled mostly with water. Pulling the mop out of the front closet, he made sure to wring it mostly dry as he'd read on the internet and carefully mopped the hardwood floors in the front hall and dining room. He began to sing under his breath, smiling in the process.

He used his morning of cleaning as a way to justify what was largely snooping through Billy's possessions. He told himself that he'd never claimed to have been a good person, especially as he crawled around the room, looking through the various drawers and shelves and finding all sorts of knickknacks and other treasures.

He'd found a rather sizable collection of adult vhs tapes in the closed part of the entertainment unit and he thumbed through these tapes idly, flipping some over to look at the back of the tapes. He felt that he was beginning to get a handle on what Billy was attracted to- though he noticed a surprising diversity in the girls that exemplified this quality. As he'd done with the magazines, he set them aside for later perusal.

Going back upstairs, he edged into the study _. I've avoided finishing it for too long_ , he admitted to himself, looking around at the room. He was still surprised by the sheer number of books in here. The room itself was fairly small, smaller he guessed than his bedroom on the floor below, but the floor plans had been flip flopped to give the most space to the bedrooms, so it made sense that space was limited here. Pulling a rag out of his back pocket, he sat down next to one of the book shelves, taking each book down with care and dusting it off.

While the first shelf was primarily car manuals, he was surprised to find a collection of poetry books on the next shelf he dusted. Langston Hughes, he remembered Billy saying he liked, but he also found collected works for Robert Frost, Walt Whitman, T.S. Eliot, and W.B. Yeats. There was a piece of paper shoved in the Yeats book; opening the book to that page, he found the poem The Stolen Child, with the fourth stanza marked in pencil. The paper itself was a decent sketch of the room he was currently in and putting it back where it had been before, he wondered what Billy had been thinking about when he'd first drawn the picture.

Other notable books included an old math textbook which had been carefully worked through, A Separate Peace with the spine cracked, another edition of Catcher in the Rye in a similar condition, and a collection of Irish folktales that left the Italian immortal puzzled until he remembered that Billy's mother had been an Irish immigrant. Opening to the copyright page, he was surprised to find that the book was almost as old as the American immortal was. This book he held with particular care, noticing how dog-eared the pages were. In fact, after almost putting it back up on its shelf, he decided to bring it downstairs instead and set it tenderly on the desk so that he would remember to do just that.

Machiavelli was curious when he heard the bell toll mid-afternoon. He put the rag he'd been using down and walked downstairs to the front door. Sudden instinct made him freeze with his hand on the knob though, and he instead discreetly peeked out through the curtains. And groaned.

Missy leaned on the doorbell again, then gave it up and began banging on the door. "Niccolò! I know you're in there. I heard your music." _Why on earth did I tell her my name?_ he thought, mentally banging his head against the wall. _I'll just go upstairs again, like a big coward._ The hammering at the door continued.

With one foot on the first step, he stopped. _You've faced sovereign enemies in the past and you can't face her? How will you live with yourself?_ He turned around to tell her off again, but his phone rang. "Thank god," he said in relief, grabbing his phone. It was Scatty. "Hello!" he said so cheerfully that even he was a little suspicious for a minute.

"Are you drugged?"

"No, I'm just really glad to hear from you," he told her. "Except that I can hardly hear you. Would you excuse me for a second?" He pulled the front door open, cradling the phone in his left hand. "Missy?" he asked, deliberately adding a note of confusion to his voice.

She stood in front of him, obviously quite irate and defiant at this point, and also a little abashed now. For a minute, he almost felt sorry for her, but he forced himself to maintain the same cool exterior as before, lest he give her false hope. "What's up?"

"You didn't answer the door," she said aggressively. The sliver of fragility he'd glimpsed went away, but he knew it was still there.

He held up the phone. "Sorry, I was talking to someone. Can I help you?"

She stepped back. "No. No, never mind." She turned on her heel and jogged down the front steps, throwing him a nasty look before turning the corner.

He put the phone back to his ear. "Hi, Scatty."

"Was that your neighbor that you were telling me about?"

"Yeah." He watched her retreat down the sidewalk before shutting the door. "It's kind of funny. She's aggressive and wildly inappropriate, but I just felt sorry for her."

"It must have been a visual thing then, cause she just sounded aggressive and wildly inappropriate to me."

He laughed. "She's definitely no prize, but I wonder what made her this way. I feel like her parents didn't do a very good job," he said thoughtfully, climbing over the couch and sinking into the cushions. "You are still going to go along with the ruse, aren't you?" he asked, a little worried now.

"Oh, yeah. You definitely need a fake girlfriend at this point."

"Thank- thank you?"

"To scare away your crazy neighborhood stalker," she clarified impatiently. "I'm not questioning your sexuality. Didn't you say she watched your bedroom window at least once?"

"She did, that. I will be eternally grateful for your support in this matter. When are you coming?"

"Well, I wanted to talk to you about that, that's why I called. Would you be ready for me if I came in two days?"

"I would be ready for you if you came today," he told her excitedly.

"Good. Then it's decided. Perenelle's going to drive me to the airport. It's about a 6 hour flight to Philadelphia. I'll be there by late morning or early afternoon, Saturday, depending on delays."

"Fine. Text me your flight details."

"Alright, I'll do that when I find where I left the tickets." She sneezed and he toasted her health out of habit. "So what are you doing right now anyways?"

"I'm finishing cleaning the house," he explained promptly, picking at a spot of bleach on Billy's work pants.

"You're cleaning the house?" Scatty sounded shocked.

"I can pull my own weight," he defended himself. He softened his tone. "Billy was helping me, but he had to go away before we finished all the rooms. I've only got two more that I've been working on."

"I can't picture you mopping." Scatty let out a yipping laugh. "Are you wearing a suit?"

"No, I'm wearing some of Billy's older clothes and then I'm going to throw them out when I'm done. I probably look a little ridiculous," he admitted, glancing down at his outfit. Because of the height difference between the two immortals, he was showing several inches of ankle right now, the pants themselves torn and stained in several places. The shirt he was wearing at least fit better, but it was no less unkempt. "Oh, god." He had a sudden realization. "I opened the door wearing this."

"What are you wearing? It can't be that awful."

"It's pretty bad. It's like Billy's fashion sense completely tanked in the eighties."

"To be fair, you could say that about almost anybody. Send me a picture," she attempted to induce him.

"There's no one here to take a picture of me, you wouldn't get it all."

"Good god, man, they told me you were good with technology. Find a full length mirror and take a picture of yourself."

"We have one in the bathroom on the top floor," he mused.

"Good, use that one."

"But that would mean climbing all of those stairs…"

She sighed. "What are you 90? Go upstairs and take a picture of your ugly clothes like a real adult Niccolò."

"Technically I'm 546," he told her, but he found himself already heading for the stairs.

"Shush. Are you heading upstairs?"

"Yes, dear," he said automatically.

"We're going to have fun as a fake couple, I think," she told him conversationally. "You seem fairly compliant, all things considered."

"I have a hard time disobeying the women in my life," he told her, snapping a picture. "It comes from being Italian. Here's my outfit."

"Oh. Oh, Niccolò. You didn't mention the flowers."

"You're not even trying not to laugh at me." Unconsciously, he straightened the collar to the shirt. "I plan on destroying this shirt and several others. I've also got my eye on some ties, but I don't know if I have the nerve yet."

"Did he wear the shirts and ties together?"

"I don't know. Last night I laid out all of his old shirts and ties and tried to match them up as best as I could."

"And how'd that work for you?"

"I had eleven shirts and eight ties I couldn't do anything with."

"How many shirts and ties were there to work with?"

He sighed. "Eleven shirts and eight ties."

"Well, if your number one fan saw you in this outfit and still wants anything to do with you, maybe you should pursue something with her," Scatty suggested most unhelpfully. It didn't help that she let out a loud snicker.

"That doesn't mean anything. Under this hideous outfit, I'm still beautiful," he joked back.

"You're a very sexy man, Machiavelli," she told him tiredly.

He knew she was teasing him, but he couldn't help but blush. "No, I was just joking," he protested lightly.

"I know you were, but I wasn't. You need to have a little more self-confidence when it comes to matters of love," she told him.

His heart plummeted. "You really think so?" he asked curiously.

"Maybe just a little. You're confident in everything else. If you were a little more confident, I think you'd have no trouble getting a date. Not that I think that's what you want," she amended and he laughed softly. "What's up?"

"You and Billy read me far more easily than I enjoy," he confessed. "I think I have enough confidence personally. Back when I was mortal, I enjoyed the company of many women, but after my wife died I promised I'd stop that behavior. And I have… I guess maybe that's why things will never work out with Billy. Well, one of the reasons."

"But it's this that I'm talking about. If you just fold, without even trying, of course you'll never get where you want to with him."

"Scatty, it's hard enough to make someone fall in love with you, even if they're of the appropriate orientation. I have a whole album proving that Billy is very clearly not interested in men!" He realized he was almost shouting the last bit and quieted. He took several deep breaths. "Sorry. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. What album are you talking about?"

"It was the thing I was going to show you when you came," he mumbled. The conversation had taken a turn into a direction he hadn't wanted it to. Desperately, he struggled to reclaim the flow. "Will the Flamels be able to come visit with you?"

"Unfortunately, no. They're very dedicated to getting that shop into shape. Often times if I want to have dinner with someone, I have to hoof it over there cause they're down there half the night."

 _Maybe she's been lonely too. "_ Sorry."

"Ah, it's okay. I'm used to living alone anyways."

"So am I, but I don't really like this either."

Scatty's tone was brisk. "Well, it'll be good to get out of Montana for a while anyways. I'm used to living in cities anyways."

~MB~

Knowing that she would be at the apartment even sooner than he'd expected gave the Italian immortal the motivation he needed to finish what he'd started. He spent the rest of the afternoon scrubbing the entire house, top to bottom.

The living room, he decided would look better if it could be painted fresh, but looking around the room, he wasn't sure he'd be able to complete such a task by himself. Instead, he touched up the paint on the trim, being careful not to spill any of the white paint onto the floors. This in itself was much more involved than he'd figured on, but he didn't mind the task except for the ache in his knees.

It was almost evening before he'd finally finished the last window frame. Machiavelli leaned back, looking at his work. It looks much better in here, he decided. Like people could actually live here.

Pushing up to his feet, he stretched his legs. The muscles tingled from the half crouch he'd been in for the past couple of hours and he limped over to Billy's armchair. "I should have appreciated my wife more," he mumbled to himself, remembering how clean she'd always kept their home. Dagon, he'd treated better, but his wife… he'd learned too late all that she had done for him. He shook his head. Sometimes when it was quiet like this, he had a hard time getting his wife out of his mind. And why should he? He still missed his wife, even after he'd met Billy.

Shoving away that sliver of guilt, he pulled his notebook out of his knapsack and opened it to a clean page. He pulled the cord on the lamp closest to him, in order to better see what he was doing in the gathering gloom. On the top of the new entry, he wrote her name- Marietta (' _Marry me, Marietta?' And she had said yes. It seemed so long ago)_.

He paused, tapping the pen against his lips. Despite everything he'd done to her, he'd never doubted her love in return. He smiled lightly. He remembered getting married to her- it had been in August and it was hideously hot, even for their Mediterranean standards. He'd snuck over to her house the night before, unbeknownst to either of their families… He'd taken her down to walk beside the Arno river and she'd held onto his arm the whole promenade. His fingers flexed- for a minute he imagined holding her hand again.

They had always lived near Florence, he reflected, though his business trips had taken him all over Italy. Still, Marietta had rarely accompanied him on these obligations, preferring to stay close to her family. After his imprisonment, they'd moved to Sant'Andrea, but even that was only a tiny province of Florence overall. Moreover, he felt sure that she would not have chosen to remain there; the memories of their hard times there had perverted the estate in her eyes. Then again, perhaps he should check there anyways…

That left Florence, the city proper, though that didn't help him much, the city being incredibly large. And many of our old landmarks are gone, he thought, feeling a touch melancholy at the thought. Taking up his pen again, he scrawled several likely locations and put the list aside. Looking outside, he watched as the sky darkened. _Why hadn't you been true to her when you had the chance?_ he wondered for the thousandth time.

Soon, Scatty would be here, he told himself, distancing himself from the regrets of his past. He sat, feeling the cold air of night spill into the house around him.


	23. Chapter 23

AN: Thanks to everyone who leaves private messages or reviews. It really does make me feel better, getting feedback on my writing!

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By the end of Friday, Machiavelli was ready for some company.

He'd spent the day doing two things.

First, he'd devoted a large period of time to making some final changes before Scathach arrived. He figured to himself that if he was ever going to get used to using his own bedroom instead of continuing to skulk about in Billy's, he'd better put the Shadow up on the top floor.

To do this, he felt that he should probably make the room less of man's room. Truthfully, Scatty probably wouldn't like it to be covered in flowers, but he still felt that he was obligated to make it a little nicer. Thus he found himself in a home decorating store, getting hopelessly taken advantage of by a clerk with an eagle eye. "I think I'll shop by myself for a while, thanks," he said finally, politely, but firmly dismissing her.

Free at last of his captor, he walked up and down the aisles, trying to keep himself under control. In the end, he exited the store with a queen sized memory foam mattress pad, a new bedding set, sheets, and a laundry hamper. He loaded these carefully into Billy's baby. At the last minute, he decided he'd better buy a new set of pillows; those he and Billy had been using were almost completely flat. He ran back in and after buying these and several smaller items, finally drove back to their apartment, loading what he could into the dumbwaiter and levitating the bigger boxes up the stairs ahead of him.

Upstairs, he debated whether or not to put the bed set tonight or wait till the next morning. He decided to put it off until morning knowing that he was going to want to stay one more night in the upstairs bedroom.

Wandering across the hall to the study, he sat down at the desk under the window. He fingered the bottom most drawer and after his initial hesitation, he pulled the drawer open and pulled out the album. This, he placed on the desk before him. Glancing out the window, he wondered about himself and what he was doing.

He shook his head.

And flipped open the book of pictures. It didn't feel like quite as much of a punch in the gut as it had the day he first found it, but he still felt an awful sinking feeling in his gut, looking at these pictures. He flicked ahead, looking and finding the page where Billy was. These two pictures, he took out, and slipped into the breast pocket of his shirt. He couldn't explain it but while these pictures upset him more than any of the others, he didn't want anyone else to see them, not even Scatty.

Closing the book again, he hid it under the magazines from before and went down a flight. The pictures, he put in his bedside table, figuring he'd find a better spot later. His glance lingered over the sepia longer than he felt was probably appropriate and he tore his eyes away. Closing the drawer, he wished for the umpteenth time that he knew where the key to the drawer was so that he could lock it.

Satisfied that he'd completed his responsibility, he focused on what he'd really wanted to do today. Going all the way down the stairs and out into the backyard, he collected several items, imagining that he probably looked a little strange, but not really caring. He shoved a couple of leaves in his pocket, took up some pebbles, plucked a long strand of grass and headed back through the house, retracing his steps to the study. There, he pulled a piece of chalk from the top drawer and pausing thought about what he wanted to do.

It had been a long time since he'd really done any alchemy and he wanted this to be something special. Idly, he scrawled a circle with the chalk, adding detail and flourishes, sometimes erasing with the outer edge of his hand and correcting it. Across this circle, he put the strand of grass bent into the shape of a small circle, the shiniest of the rocks, and a rhododendron leaf. He placed both hands outside of the circle on either side. His aura sparked, then lit up, almost blindingly bright.

The circle he'd drawn was gone, but in its place was a ring, dark and dotted with emeralds. It didn't fit his finger, but then, he hadn't intended on it fitting him. Smiling, he set it aside, putting it in the top drawer next to the box of chalk, for safekeeping.

He was glad to find that his aura was still working fine- almost, if not completely, as strong as it had been before. The color did seem slightly different though, he reflected. Perhaps it was because he'd gone a couple of months without using it regularly, but it seemed to him that his aura had been a grayish white before and now what he was producing was almost purely white. He tapped pointer fingers together and watched the crackle of energy flow between the two. _It probably hasn't changed,_ he thought stubbornly, _auras don't really change colors. Scents change, but not the shade or manner._

Messing around now, he cupped his hands together and, letting his aura run over his fingers, formed a ball of energy. Moving his fingers gently over the surface of the sphere, he began to trace different colors over the pulsing energy. Beads of sweat formed on his face as he pushed himself, stretching the ball into a different shape now, now forming a light, now making the ball of energy jump from hand to hand…

Really, he was hoping that Billy would call soon. It had been three days since they'd talked last and he remembered the American immortal had said he would call. He continued practicing his aura in the meantime, but his attention was far away.

He ended up jumping a bit when the phone actually buzzed. His auric ball dropped and shattered into dozens of marbles which rolled in all directions. Surprised, he knocked the phone on the ground in his haste to pick it up and cursed a little as he bent down to grab it. "Hello?" he said, answering it without looking first.

"Mac?"

"Billy." Machiavelli's heart leaped into his throat.

The Kid seemed to be holding his breath; for a minute, there was a silence. Not for long- "Is this a bad time, Mac?"

"No," the Italian assured him. "No, I've been hoping that you'd call soon."

"Oh. Why didn't you call me? I would have loved to have gotten a call from you…"

"Billy, you're in the middle of a dangerous mission. I didn't want to call you and distract you at a critical juncture," Machiavelli reasoned.

"Oh, well, yeah, that makes sense. Anyways, I'm glad we can talk right now. I've been missing you."

Niccolò closed his eyes; a smile lighting up his features. "You shouldn't be lonely. You've got a lot of friends with you."

"I do like my friends. But it's not quite the same. You know, Mac, any," Billy paused. He seemed to be struggling to find the right words. "Any day I don't talk to you, it's just not, it's not right. Like something's missing and at the end of the day…" Machiavelli waited, but the outlaw seemed unable to complete the thought. He gave the other man a minute, hoping he'd say what the Italian wanted him to say, but Billy just coughed delicately.

"Is this adventure like the ones you used to have?"

He could hear the Kid relax once more. "Kind of. But not really. I don't have the same relationship with them as I once did… it's strange, isn't it Mac? When I was a Regulator, I couldn't see two years into the future and I thought I'd spend the rest of my life with them…"

"Why don't you tell me about your friend," Machiavelli suggested, feeling a little depressed himself now; he'd hoped that the American would cheer him up, but Billy was in a mood of his own.

"Which one? Fred?"

The Italian wondered what it would be like to have so many friends that you didn't know which one someone was referring to. "Si. The other Regulator. Were the two of you close?"

"We were a long time ago…" Billy trailed off. He seemed deep in thought. "Fred was a few years older than me. I looked up to him. But I got closer to my friend Tom. Thomas O'Folliard," he clarified.

Machiavelli nodded slightly. He remembered that name; Billy had mentioned him before.

"It's a little strange now though."

"Cause you've spent so much time apart now?"

"Well, that. Definitely, yeah. But also because Fred's much older than me now. Practically twice my age. He didn't become immortal until he was 42. We don't- I don't know what to say to him or how to act…"

 _Billy sounds upset,_ Machiavelli realized. _Why didn't I realize that earlier?_ "Billy, I'm sure you'll figure it out as you spend more time with him," he said soothingly. "I was well over twice your age when we met and we became really good friends. And now look at us, we're- we're-"

"Best friends," the Kid supplied and Niccolò could hear the smile in the other man's voice. "I guess so, Mac, it's just that we've spent the last week together and it hasn't gotten any better. I feel so very different from him; we used to get in such messes and it was frightening, but also a lot of fun and he was wild and so was I…"

"Have you considered bringing it up directly with him?" Machiavelli suggested. "I'm sure he feels it too."

"Yeah, I might." Billy coughed slightly. "Did I ever tell you about the year I turned forty?"

"No. What happened?"

"Well, I turned forty! What else needs to happen?" The Kid tried to sound happy, but Machiavelli knew that he wasn't nearly as cheerful as he sounded. "I got a little depressed when I turned forty, or when I should have turned forty anyways," he admitted to the Italian. "Cause I got to thinking, what are the things that you should have by now and where are all your friends? And half my friends had died, so long before, and I was just the same as I'd always been except that now I was truly alone for the first time…"

"Caro, don't be so sad," Machiavelli begged. "I've never heard you sad like this before and I can't do anything about it. And I want to make you feel better!" He wanted to say so many things that he couldn't; that he loved Billy; that he wished he could go back and protect him from all the sadness in the world.

"What about you?"

Machiavelli blinked. "What about me?" he echoed.

"You sound a little funny too."

 _Do I?_ "I'm just a little sad," he said, trailing off. "I'll tell you what's bothering me if you tell me what's bothering you."

"Will you really?"

"No."

The Kid laughed a little. "Well anyways, I'm okay really," Billy said, but his voice had a scratchy quality to it. He cleared his throat. "I want to hear about you, Mac. What'd you do today?"

"I've been getting the house ready for Scatty to come. I'm making your room a little nicer for her to stay in." Billy murmured his agreement. "And then I did some alchemy today. I made a ring for Scatty."

"You can do that?" The Kid sounded excited and Machiavelli nodded, edging around the marbles on the ground and heading for the other room. He flopped back onto the blankets.

"Of course. You can do almost anything with alchemy that's why it was such a sought after skill. I was never as good as Nicholas though," he added hastily.

Billy seemed to ignore that. "Are you going to teach me alchemy? When you teach me the other stuff?"

Machiavelli was surprised. He agreed without thinking about it, caught off guard by Billy's request. "I could. Do you want to learn alchemy?"

"Yeah," the Kid said readily. "Nicholas was teaching me a little before when we were in Montana. He was trying to teach me how to make precious stones, but it wasn't working very well…"

"Gems are hard to make… I'd start with something easier if I were you," the Italian cautioned.

"I mean, I kind of made it change a little, but not very much." There was a whooshing sound; Billy must have exhaled onto the phone. "You know what, Mac? If you can make rings and I can make gemstones, we could go into the jewelry business!"

"Out of one cut throat business and into another," Machiavelli surmised, laughing a little. "We could at least- how would you say it- bling ourselves out." He scowled a little. "Why are you giggling at me?"

"It's just funny when you say really modern words like bling," Billy told him, sounding much more cheerful. "Did you know that you almost always proceed the word with 'how would you say'?"

The tactician chose to ignore that statement. "You know when I was using my aura, I could have sworn my aura was a slightly different color…"

"Like orange, now?"

Machiavelli actually blew a raspberry at that. "I said slightly, William," he repeated, exasperated.

"So, what color is it?"

"Well, it's kind of whitish and I know my aura has always been kind of a dirty white or a gray, but this seems a lot brighter and… Well, when you come back, you can take a look. I'll need the second opinion. I'm beginning to think I'm going crazy."

"Hey, if you're going to change your aura color, you should make it manly like mine."

"I don't think a solferino aura suits me the way it does you," Machiavelli objected, leaning back. He could almost hear the question on Billy's lips before the man even asked it. "Solferino's a region in northern Italy, but also a deep reddish purple color."

"Oh. I didn't know there was a word for it."

"There's a word for everything, Billy."

"You're going to have to teach them to me, then. I feel like I'm not half as smart as you." Before Machiavelli could say anything, the Kid quickly changed subjects. "Do you miss the others?"

Machiavelli nodded slightly, then realized Billy couldn't see him. "A bit," he admitted cautiously. He stopped himself from saying anything else; he felt that he was complaining too much.

"A bit," Billy sighed. "So that's not really what's bothering you then…" The Kid continued to mumble. Feeling his hand begin to ache a little from the effort of holding up the phone for so long, Machiavelli switched hands. Now cradling the cell phone in his left hand, he rested his right in his pocket as he wriggled around to look up at the few stars in the sky he was able to see. "Is it something I did?" Billy interrupted his thoughts.

"Yes and no."

"Mac! That's not helpful in the slightest!" And Machiavelli had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing; he did feel slightly bad. He'd obviously troubled Billy now.

"Sorry, Billy. Why don't we forget about it? I'm feeling better now; maybe I just needed someone to talk to," Niccolò rationalized. "By the way, we have a crazy neighbor- did you know that?"

"Did you find something of mine that upset you?" Billy cut in shrewdly. Machiavelli felt his blood run cold; he hadn't really expected the outlaw to pinpoint what was troubling him and not so quickly either… but if Billy remembered he had the album, he'd know that he had been snooping through his things…

"Yeah, I found something," he admitted reluctantly.

"What, though?" Billy muttered and Machiavelli felt his pulse normalize as he relaxed. "I'll think about that. Okay, Mac, distract me with your tales of our neighbor."

"Ah, well, I'm beginning to think that there is more to your theory about me and women than I originally thought. The other day, I went out to our backyard, just to look around, and…" he described the situation as it was unfolding, "…and I practically had to shut the door in her face, she wouldn't leave," he ended helplessly.

"Aw, Mac, you've got an admirer," Billy crooned on his end. The Italian immortal could hear the suppressed laughter in his voice.

"Admirer, she'll be digging through our garbage next. I asked Scatty to come visit, just to have a woman around me regularly."

"You're going to pretend Scatty's your girlfriend?" Billy said, sounding very interested. "And she's agreed to this?"

"I didn't really frame it that way, at least initially," Machiavelli mumbled, wishing he'd picked a different way of distracting Billy. "I just told her that I was having trouble with a neighbor and it would help me out if she'd come… Oh, William, stop laughing," he begged.

"Scatty's going to be pissed as fuck if she realizes that you're using her as your girlfriend," Billy advised him through the occasional hiccup. "You two will certainly make an interesting couple," he added thoughtfully.

"Then we have your blessing?" Machiavelli asked acridly.

"I will be the best man at your wedding," Billy promised. The Italian immortal scoffed. "Seriously, mi hombre hermoso, you should work on doing some things of our list with her. We never got around to doing half of them."

"I thought that you wanted to do those things. I thought that was the point of you making the list."

"Yeah, but there's a few things on there that are time sensitive. Like going apple picking," he pointed out. He sucked in air in a swell of excitement. "Mac, go apple picking, get me a lot of apples and when I come back I'll make you a pie. Don't sleep on this now."

"Do either Scatty or I seem like the people who would go apple picking?" The tactician's protests fell on deaf ears. "I'm not even sure I could convince Scatty to go," Machiavelli tried.

"Well, try. I like to use Cortlands for baking, but Macs for eating. The apple, that is. I wasn't planning on eating you." Somewhere in the bottom of his torso, Machiavelli imagined that his stomach had just done a few loop de loops and imploded. "You know, I'm glad Scatty's coming to visit you. I didn't like leaving you alone. I felt so bad the day I left you," Billy chattered. "Fair warning though, Scatty and Billie don't get along."

"Have they met?"

"Just once. And it didn't go well…" Billy stopped talking. "I've got to go now, Mac. Our group is on the move again."

"Where are you going?"

"We're dipping back down into Texas. Uh, yeah, I'm coming, of course I am…" Talking to Machiavelli again, Billy's voice rose. "Listen, Macklemore, I've got to go. I'll talk to you again soon."

"Wait, Billy, who's Macklemore?" But the Kid just barked a laugh and hung up. "Damn. I hate not knowing things." He snagged the American's laptop on his way upstairs. "I'll look it up," he mumbled.

Tossing the computer onto the bed, he firmly closed the shades before undressing. He booted it up on one pass between the bed and the closet and punched in the password he made Billy put on the computer on his next pass. While he was waiting for the computer to go through all of its necessary startups, he completed his nightly routine.

"Finally," he mumbled when it finally was completely started up. Tossing a pillow from the head of the bed into the center of the space, he laid on his stomach and began typing into the search engine. "Who is this guy?" he asked himself, scrolling through the results. He hovered over some of the links and decided to wait for the outlaw to come back, feeling a little overwhelmed by the sheer volume of results.

He tapped his fingers lightly on the keys. He wanted to… he wasn't quite sure what he wanted to do, but he decided he'd start by finishing an article he'd been reading the other day. Clicking on the history tab, he sat up abruptly. The computer's search history… _why hadn't he considered this before?_ He hesitated. It's wrong to snoop into other's people's business, he told himself.

Still, though… "When have you ever stopped yourself from snooping?" he said aloud, bringing up the search history and hastily scrolling through the first couple of pages of results, which were his own. "This is exactly the immoral, poorly planned activity that got you down at the beginning of the week," he argued. "And you talk too much to yourself!"

But he was in his element at last. Getting tired of scrolling through what was largely his own history, he typed in the date of the first time they spoke, only months back though it felt like much longer, and was presented with a long list of results. He scrolled through.


	24. Chapter 24

At the midmorning mark, Machiavelli got in Billy's car, backed it carefully out onto the road and drove to the airport. He had the peculiar sense of déjà vu, except that it would have been Billy doing this when they first met. He wondered what the American immortal had been thinking then.

Parking at the airport was remarkably easier for Machiavelli than for other customers. Whereas most people battled for the closer spots, he was happy just maneuvering what was essentially a boat into the first spot he could find, one that was as far away from the airport as humanly possible. Still, with his abysmal parking skills, the Italian immortal was happier having to walk than potentially bumping or grazing or god forbid, smashing the red car against someone else's.

He'd decided last minute to buy a suit for the occasion and he carefully buttoned it as he made his way into the terminals. _I'm probably more dangerous than any of them_ , he reflected, looking at those who'd been pulled aside to be searched more thoroughly. _Racial profiling at its best._

Glancing at his pocket watch, he figured he had quite some time before Scatty was due to come in; the whole process of getting here had taken much less time than he had thought it would. He bought a copy of Le Monde at one of the kiosks and sank down into one of the chairs facing the terminal. Though he appeared for all intents and purposes to be deeply engrossed in the paper, he was instead reflecting on things that had already happened, as was his habit.

Knowing the Kid as he did now, he tried to piece together the situation from the other man's point of view, which proved to be harder than he thought it would. _Billy had known who he was from the minute he'd gotten off the plane_ , he remembered. _That had surprised him. He took careful pains not to be recognizable._

He turned a page idly, folding the paper over so as to appear more believable in his ruse.

He closed his eyes, briefly, remembering the first scent of cayenne. He'd thought the American would be unlikable, had reached out his hand as only a formality. _But Billy smiled at me when I did it. And I felt- something- I don't know what._ He opened his eyes again. "He was probably thinking about cars or something like that," he mumbled under his breath.

This time when he looked at the magazine, he did try to read.

Machiavelli snorted, scanning an editorial on Germain, who was 'looking younger than ever' according to one misled fan. _We should be glad that we can focus on such lighthearted issues again_ , he thought, thinking to himself about how different the world might have been, about how the world rose and fell without anyone noticing. The paper itself was actually dotted with references to immortals and occurrences that fell beyond the scope of the normal person. Months after the events on Alcatraz, there were still vestigial effects of the failed coup.

He was surprised at himself, surprised that he cared less now about the undercurrents and power plays moving about the world around him. The newest head of the DGSE could have been easily overcome; he could have claimed his old job at any moment should he want to, yet he found that he honestly didn't desire it anymore. _I've grown tired of lies and manipulation; I only want to make myself better now._

He'd actually managed to read through the majority of his magazine, cover to cover, by the time that Scatty's plane came in, three hours later than it should have. By that point, the seat he'd taken had become increasingly uncomfortable and it was with stiff legs that he hobbled towards the gate after hearing the announcement of her flight.

The magazine, he tucked into his black messenger bag. He stood a little apart from the throng and watched the crew attendants roll the stairs towards the door of the plane, knowing that he would stand out to the Shadow. Even if she hadn't been able to scent his aura, he was really the only person in the area dressed as he was, in a full three piece suit and tie.

The first passengers were coming down the steps now and he straightened. He saw a flash of red hair among all the other and he grinned. They locked eyes, she gave him her superior smile and a little wave with the hand that wasn't holding a carryon and pushed through the crowds to where he stood waiting for her.

"Scatty," he said fondly, stooping to embrace her whole heartedly. She gasped a little and grabbed his shoulders when he straightened to his full height, pulling her off the ground by half a foot.

"Put me down, you scoundrel." He complied, but couldn't help but palm her face affectionately. She looked him up and down. "You're tall again, I see," she observed. "Look basically like you used to, except for the hair."

Machiavelli touched his short brown hair, a soft smile on his thin lips. "Yes," he agreed. "I'm back to where I was." He couldn't help but pull her into another hug, swinging her around in a tight circle. She let him, even smiling faintly, though she feigned annoyance.

"I've got a letter for you," she told him, after he'd set her back down. She refused to let him carry her bags, preferring to carry them herself.

"A letter from whom?"

"Nick. It's in one of my bags, I'll find it at your place. We're not taking a taxi?" she asked, confused when they moved away from the main doors to the airport.

"No, I'm driving you home." He correctly interpreted her confusion. "Billy was teaching me how to drive before he left. I'm not awful at it. Except with merging and parking, which is why we're actually kind of faraway… are you sure you won't let me carry your bags? I look like an awful person?"

"I'm capable of carrying my own bags," she pointed out, following him down the sidewalk.

"I know, but it's the gentlemanly thing to do," he countered, successfully tugging one of the bags out of her hand, though he knew that if she'd wanted to, she would have prevented him from doing so.

"So you know how to drive now?" she asked curiously. "Cause back in Paris, Joan said…"

"Probably said that I was awful, yes, well… driving still makes me very nervous, especially since this is Billy's car. But I'm getting a little better at it," he surmised hopefully.

Scatty didn't quite look like she believed him, but she did put her bags in the back seat and climbed in.

"Luckily, we're in between the major traffic hours," he told her, backing out slowly. "Doesn't help that this car is so much bigger than others," he added, putting a hand behind her seat to twist a little.

"Is it bigger? I guess so."

He coasted to the end of the aisle and waited for several cars to pass before he'd pull out into the traffic. "It is. It's at least a foot longer than most American cars these days and three feet wider."

"I'm guessing you don't just know this off hand," she observed cheerfully.

He shook his head. "Billy and I were in this car for a week, traveling across the country." He made a vague gesture with his hand before gripping the wheel again. "He babbles."

"I know."

"There was almost no filter."

"There almost never is," she agreed. Cranking down the window, she trailed her hand out in the air, letting the breeze slip over her fingers. She looked over at him. "Does this make you cold?"

"No, I'm okay. I've got a few layers on. And my hair's too short to mess up."

She scoffed. "I just need the fresh air."

"Why, are you feeling sick?" He looked over at her and the car drifted to the right. He swore a little and corrected. "Scatty, are you okay?"

She rubbed her forehead. "Traveling always makes me feel a little sick. Flying isn't quite as bad as ley gates though."

"Is that why you were out of it when we first fought in Paris?" he asked curiously. "Because you had just come through the ley gate?"

"I wasn't really out of it," she protested. "We still beat you at your own game."

"Yes, that's true," he agreed amicably. "I never said I was sorry for sending you back in time." He gave her a coy smile. "Sorry."

She punched him, lightly, on the shoulder. "It's okay, that's just what friends do. I guess…"

"Are you hungry?" he asked her. They crossed the river, the GPS telling them where to go, though it seemed counterintuitive to him to cross the bridge, when he knew that he was going to have to double back again. She nodded just slightly.

"Are we going to eat at the house?"

"I had a meal planned, yes, unless you would like to go out to dine?" She shook her head and he focused on again on the road. "I didn't think you would." They reached another intersection and he turned onto the bridge crossing the Schuykil. At least the buildings looked more familiar once more.

"Billy lives in one of these?" she questioned, looking at the brownstones ducking by them, slouching down to see under the branches of the trees, leaves still in riotous color, bright splashes of yellow obstructing the sky.

"I was a little surprised too," he allowed. "But Billy bought his apartment before this area was desirable…"

"I'm always surprised that Billy has so much property around the country," she commented. "I guess it makes sense though, he moves around more than we do."

"Don't get out, just yet," he told her. He pulled open the garage door and parked the car. "Okay, we're stopped now." He looked around. "Let's go in through the front door, okay? Your bags will be hard to get up the stairs in the kitchen. He grabbed the two biggest bags before she could object.

They exited through the garage door and pulled it shut behind them. Scatty was looking up at the white-gray stonework. "We didn't have to move around as much as he did cause we have chosen to stay in big cities for the majority of our immortal lives," he said quietly. "I can't picture Billy staying here very long." He put down a bag to unlock the door. "Anyway, here we are."

Scatty dropped her things in the front entranceway. She turned in a slow circle, looking around. "It's not nearly as messy as you made it sound," she said thoughtfully.

He took her hand. "I've been working on it," he told her, gently pulling her into the living room. "Let me show you around. This is the living room, obviously, and through these doors," he crossed the room and opened the adjoining doors, "is the dining room which could still use some work. All the rooms should probably be painted when we get the chance," he added ruefully.

"That's such a small backyard!" she called, peeping out the windows to their little boxed in space.

"I know." He put a hand on her shoulder. "That apartment directly across from ours is where our friendly neighborhood stalker lives. See the pink curtains?"

"I hate pink," Scatty said decisively, looking up at the window he'd indicated. "Well Scooby, this explains a little better your situation. You're practically living on top of her."

"Scooby?" he groaned.

"My new pet name for you."

"Ah, but I thought- oh, never mind. So if we go through this door, we're in that little hallway that runs parallel to the stairs and the living room. The kitchen's down there, along with the garage- I'll show you that afterwards. Upstairs is the rest of the house." He made a motion and lifted all three bags into the air, levitating them before him up the stairs.

"Brownstones are kind of strange in that they're vertical versus horizontal," she commented following closely behind him.

"This is actually closer to what I've become used to living in, in the past few centuries. Space is at a premium in Europe." They stopped on the second floor. He skipped the first door, the one closest to the back of the house, and opened the second door on the left. "This is going to be my bedroom from now on," he told her. "We just painted it."

"What was the other door?"

"World's smallest bathroom," he quipped.

"And why is this suddenly your bedroom? Where have you been sleeping up till now?"

He ducked his head. "I've been sharing a bedroom with Billy. We didn't have a second mattress until just the other day," he said, sounding somewhat defensive.

Unlike Lady Day, Scatty didn't make much of his omission. "And you don't want to keep on sleeping in Billy's room while you can?"

He paused. The thought hadn't occurred to him at all. "I don't know…" he said hesitantly. "Billy went to a lot of effort to get this room presentable for me to use; we'd have to switch again when he came back. And I should probably get used to separating from him." They both looked around the room.

"It's a nice room. Did you pick the color?"

"I did. It seemed nice and neutral." He couldn't help but glance at the nightstand where the pictures of Billy were hidden. "We'll figure out the bedding situation."

"If you change your mind, we can always switch, even just for a little while."

"Ah, but I made up the room special for you. And I think my original line of thought was that you would have the nicer bathroom."

"Careful on the triangle steps," he told her rounding the corner of the stairwell. "Billy's always tripping on those."

"I don't need a big bathroom," she told him, following him up the stairs to the top floor.

"I figured you'd say that, but I still want you to have it. Besides, if we're going to pull of this ruse, it will help for her to see you up here." He edged down the narrow hallway. "Okay, here we are. So this will be your bedroom." He opened the door, and let her go through first.

Scatty looked around the room. She smiled at him. "It's pretty. You must have cleaned it up for me."

"I did. The whole place was kind of one big bachelor pad," he admitted. "Billy was kind enough to take down all the pictures of girls off the wall for you before he left."

"Aw, that was nice of him." She laughed. "So is this where you and he-?"

"Yes." He rubbed his nose self-consciously. "I pushed him up against that wall," indicating the space in between the bedside table and the window, "and then backed him onto the bed. He pulled on my tie and…" He coughed and looked up at her. He couldn't read the expression on her face. "But he doesn't remember any of that."

"No," she agreed. "It would appear he doesn't. But he might remember at some point."

"That's what I'm afraid of," he said, sitting beside her at the end of the bed. "Anyway, I hope it doesn't bother you, knowing what we'd done, or at least started, here. The sheets are new. So's the mattress pad."

"I wasn't really worried about that. Knowing Billy…" she trailed off.

"Yes, I have conclusive proof that he's had sex in this bed. Yeah, I'll get to that in a minute," he added, answering her look. "Oh, I made something for you. The other day. I put it in the other room."

"You made something for me?" She got off the bed, following him across the hall.

"I think the size is wrong, but I can fix that right away." He crossed the room to where he'd left the ring in the desk and pulled it out. "It's a ring. Is that weird?"

"You made this," she asked, taking it from him. "For me?"

He shrugged uncomfortably. "I wanted to practice using my aura. It's alchemy. I thought of you first…" She cut him off, surprising him by standing on her tiptoes to hug him. "I can resize it."

"It fits my middle finger. I'm going to wear it there." She looked down at the ring. "Are those emeralds?"

He nodded. "Nicholas isn't the only one who enjoys alchemy. Like him and Germain, I've supplemented my income over the years with the creation of precious gems." He ran his fingers over the band. "I designed it so that none of the stones stick out so that it doesn't interfere with what you do."

She nodded. "So Billy keeps a study," she commented looking around the room. "Who would have thought?"

"Who indeed," Machiavelli agreed. "A lot of mornings I'd wake up to find him sitting on this desk watching people out the window. I sat with him a couple of times. It's a good thing the desk is well made."

She laughed. "Why not just pull up one of these armchairs to one of the other windows. Both of these ones would be easier to look out of."

"Ah, you know Billy. He's one of a kind."

She glanced back at him. "You really are in love with him."

"Unfortunately." Machiavelli pulled back the curtains of the window in the middle and watched two teenagers skateboard by.

"And I'm still the only one who knows about this?"

Niccolo laughed. "I don't have that many other friends, besides you and Billy."

"Niccolo, you have many friends. The Flamels, Black Hawk, Joan and Germain, me." She grabbed his arm.

"Oh, I know. I'm just closest to you and Billy." He looked down at the desk and decided to wait until later to show her the photo album. "So, you're getting hungry?"

She nodded.

"Good, I'll make you dinner now. The kitchen's all the way at the bottom of the house." He lead her back out the way they had come. "I'm really glad you're here, as I need your help with an important matter," he told her.

"You mean your neighbor? What are we going to do to her?"

Machiavelli looked horrified. "No, not her. I mean, yes, her, but I wasn't talking about her and I certainly wasn't planning on doing something to her… What were you planning on doing to her?"

Scatty neatly but conspicuously sidestepped that remark. "So what do you need my help with?"

"I'm running out of laundry," he said helplessly.

The Shadow looked at him quizzically. "Like what, you've lost some of your clothing?"

"No, it's just all dirty."

Scatty actually laughed. "And you, what? Don't know how to do laundry?" He was silent and the grin slid off her face. "You really don't know how to do laundry? How is that possible? Have you been still beating your clothing on the rocks in the Schuykill?"

Niccolo flushed, but refused to blush.


	25. Chapter 25

AN: So I have a few ideas of my own, but does anyone have suggestions for what Machiavelli might do with Scatty, now that they're reunited? I try to encorporate most suggestions if they make sense with my overall plan.

* * *

After dinner, Scatty started a load of his laundry. She tried to show him how to work the machine himself, but he pleaded nervousness, not trusting himself not to mess up a load of his good clothing. He felt a little guilty, but also felt that his guilt outweighed him ruining every set of clothing he owned. "Thanks, Scatty. Maybe sometime we can practice on Billy's old clothes."

"Don't think I don't know you were being deliberately difficult," she said grumpily, making him laugh.

"I think you're wonderful," he told her.

"That means nothing," she snapped, the corners of her mouth twitching.

"There's an ice cream place down the road," he offered as way of conciliation. "I'll buy you a cone."

"Hmm… let me get my sweater." She ran up the stairs. He tugged on his suitcoat again. Strolling down the sidewalk together a few minutes later, she slipped her arm into his. At his raised eyebrows, she defended herself. "We might run into that psychopath at any point."

"She's not really that bad of a girl," he laughed. They walked a few more feet. "Although, I'm pretty sure she spies on me on a regular basis…" He trailed off. "Maybe it is for the best that we be kind of couply."

Scatty made a small noise of agreement. From the way she was turning her head, Machiavelli knew she was on the lookout for any potential threats in their environment. He glanced over at her. "I like your cardigan," he told her, knowing that he was distracting her quite meaninglessly, but wanting to tell her a million nice things all at once. He was so glad not to be alone anymore after the week without Billy that he felt like he could start laughing. "It brings out that beautiful green in your eyes."

Her nose crinkled happily. "Mac, did you really miss me?"

"I really did," he affirmed.

"Nobody ever tells me I'm beautiful," she admitted, then laughed as if she'd realized too late that she'd said too much.

"Somebody should have," he said fiercely. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.

She kept walking, not expecting him to stop, and got pulled back. She shook her head at him, smiling self-consciously. "Did you know that even though Aiofe and I are identical, my father used to tell me he thought Aiofe was prettier than me? And that she'd do better in life. Go farther. I think he was doing it to push my buttons, make me work harder, train more…"

"That's an awful thing for a father to do." They started walking again. Somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, he caught a memory, brief but precious to him ( _Sono bella, papa? Si, certo!) He'd used to catch them, his daughters, under the armpit and swing them around until they were laughing._ His fingers tightened in hers and he blinked.

"Is this the place?"

"No." He shook his head. "That is a place that sells ice cream, but it is not good ice cream."

"Do you know all the ice cream parlors in the city now?"

"Billy and I both have a, what would you call it, sweet tooth. So it is possible, if not probable."

They passed quite a few people on the way to the parlour. Passerby subconsciously parted for the unusual pair; they garnered more than one backward glance. "It's probably the height difference," he joked, knowing that Scatty must be at least as aware as he was of the attention they were receiving.

"Billy's more suited for your height, at least he's somewhat close to your height."

Machiavelli smiled. "This is the place. It's nice of you to be so supportive," he told her as they were waiting for their cones. "I'm glad I have at least one person rooting for me."

Scatty took a bite of her cookie dough ice cream, an actual bite which left an impression on the otherwise rounded scoop. "I think a lot of our friends would root for you, if you told them," she revealed thoughtfully.

"Ah, that would be a very foolish move."

She put on hand on her hip. "Why?"

"Why make myself look stupid when Billy will never care for me in quite the way I would like him to?"

"Haven't you ever thought of broaching this topic with the Kid?" He shook his head, a knowing expression on his face. She switched which hand she was holding the cone with to take his hand in hers. "What's the worst that could happen? He doesn't feel the same way? Billy's not the type to be angry or mean… I think he'd just tell you if he didn't feel that way. And you wouldn't hold it against him either." She shook her head. "You're both very loving men."

He looked over at her, then in front of them. Seeing their brownstone coming up, he turned down a different road, elongating their walk. They ventured down the street that ran parallel to their own. "I think it would be the worst thing, knowing for certain he didn't love me," he said at last. "Not to sound overly dramatic," he added, "but at least this way, I can pretend in my mind that everything will all work out tomorrow. To close the door entirely? I don't think I'd ever stop loving him. It would be a very painful way to spend the rest of my very long life…"

"But you'd still be friends."

He squeezed her hand. "Is this your way of telling me you don't think he loves me?" he asked her curiously.

"I didn't say that. I'm saying it might never work out if you don't ever tell him how you feel. I know this isn't something that's easy. I'm just saying…" She stopped, seeming to be out of words. She made a small noise of frustration instead. "You're looking for excuses to not even try," she accused.

"You won't say that when you see the album I was telling you about the other day."

"That's right! You've been putting that off long enough, let's head for your house." She turned him abruptly. He was going to direct her on how to get back to Rittenhouse, then realized that like Billy, she had no trouble navigating the streets. _Perhaps that's an American skill set- navigation. Passed down from generations of people living in wilderness._ In next to no time, they were in front of the house again.

"Tomorrow or the next day, I'll make another copy of the key for you," he told her, letting them both in. "That way you can come and go when you need to. I know you like your independence."

"There's no rush." She slipped out of her cardigan. "I haven't seen you in a month. I'm in the mood to spend time with you." She led the way up the stairs. "Why are the stairs different here?" she added, already on the second flight of stairs up.

"Billy says they were made a little different to optimize the amount of space on the top floor. The corner steps eliminate the space used by the landing so the next staircase ends a little farther in." He followed her to the top floor. "I'll bring it downstairs?"

"Nah, grab it and come in here," she said, flicking on the light to Billy's ( _now her, he corrected himself)_ bedroom.

He hovered in the doorway. "Are you sure you want to look at it in here?"

Scatty bounced up and down on the bed. "God, this is comfortable. Yeah, why not?"

"It's your bed," Machiavelli pointed out. "Is it really appropriate for me to be on here at the same time as you are?"

Scatty gave him a look that was half pitying. "Boo, we're supposed to be 'dating.'" She mimed quotation marks. "We're going to have a hard time pretending that if you can't even sit on a bed with me."

"Well, I just don't want to wrinkle my suit," he mumbled.

"Then take it off," she suggested, dropping both shoes over the side of the bed and scooting into the middle. After a moment's thought, she flopped backward.

"I guess I could go downstairs and change."

She climbed over to where he was. "Mac, it's eleven o'clock at night and I still haven't seen that album yet. Loosen up." She undid his tie and let it hang around his neck. "What have you got under all these layers? Yeah, another shirt. So at least get rid of these layers." She helped him out of his suit jacket. He took a step back from her, undoing his button down shirt and pulling it off. "Can I get you out of those pants?" she enticed.

"No."

"Well then you're going to have to sit down and wrinkle them, or stand."

He made to tuck his leg under him so that he could sit and couldn't do it at the last minute. Flailing a little, he stood up straight again. His feet hurt a little from walking around so much today. _I could change into one of Billy's pajama pants; they're still up here,_ he thought. "Okay, I'm going to change, but you can't look," he told her.

"Alright," she agreed cheerfully, covering her eyes with her hands.

He glanced suspiciously at her before undoing his belt buckle and zipper. He pushed the suit pants down. She let out a wolf whistle and he straightened up again. "You're peeking!" he accused her.

She was laughing, her eyes still covered. "No, I could hear your belt buckle hit the floor." She uncovered one eye. "Now I'm peeking." Grumbling, he stepped out of his pants and hung them carefully at her laundry rack. "Wow, Mac, you really filled out from what you were when you left the cabin."

He glanced at her and shook his head. "You've seen me as an adult before," he said, sounding exasperated. "Everyone has. I don't know what makes my body so novel now."

"You were an old man then."

"I was just barely 58. I wasn't decrepit before; my body's always been kind of the same."

"I'm not denying that you had that pinchable ass before," she said cheerfully, causing him to sputter. "I'm just saying that nobody was checking it out before."

"Europeans appreciate an older man," he told her, climbing into the pajama pants.

She patted the bed beside her, indicating that she wanted him to join her. "Hand over the album and sit down with me." She took it from him. "Now, what could be in here that's that upsetting? Oh…" She trailed off, thumbing through the earlier pages of the photo book. Machiavelli thought- rather jealously- that she seemed rather immune to the dozens of photographs. She looked up again after leafing all the way through. "Maybe we should have Billy tested."

"I don't really think he's had sex with all these women in here," Machiavelli pleaded, knowing that he sounded rather plaintive. When she looked at him and didn't say anything, but instead went back to flicking through the pictures, he felt far worse. _Great, now I'm pitiable._

"Well, I can see why this bothered you…" she said finally, "but all things told, there's actually only about a dozen women in there- couple more- and when you consider that Billy's been an unattached young male for over a hundred years, that's not really so bad…"

"But this is just one album, what if he had more of these? What if he just didn't take pictures of all the other women?"

"You know it's funny, Billy's obviously youthful and relatively good looking, but I never really think about him being a player," Scatty pointed out fairly. "He just doesn't seem the type."

"Think so?" Machiavelli asked lightly.

"You don't?"

He shrugged. "Just from what he told me- and I know way more than I want to- it doesn't seem like he's been in a serious relationship since he became immortal. Or before that either, really. He was always running around…"

"Well… Billy was very young when he became immortal and how many people in their teens 'settle down', even back then…" Machiavelli dipped his head in slight agreement. She continued conjecturing. "And after he became an immortal… well, very few of us have relationships."

Machiavelli knew she was right. "I suppose."

"Hm, well there's no telling really unless we asked him, but this book ends about twenty pages in," she pointed out. "So it's likely that if he'd continued, they would have been in this album too…"

"Yeah, I don't know. I don't know anything…"

"Huh, well, wow." Scatty closed the album and tossed it away from them. "Wonder what stopped him?"

"I have no idea."

Machiavelli looked at the album, thinking hard. _The last pictures were those ones that he'd taken out. Why had he stopped there?_ "Billy told me about another woman he'd spent a lot of time with. Erin something- Erin McCarthy- he'd spent years with her. Maybe that's what stopped him…" _But that's wrong,_ he realized, thinking about it. _Billy'd told him he had last been in New Hampshire over 50 years ago. That would have been right before these pictures showed up…_

Scatty interrupted his musings. "McCarthy? Wasn't that Billy's original last name?"

"No, he was McCarty, no 'h'," he responded vaguely. _So he could probably guess what started Billy on this album- he'd had a serious relationship and it had scared him. He came back down to Philadelphia and, apparently, had a lot of sex- the exact opposite. That almost made sense, especially knowing Billy as he did. But what had stopped him?_

"Earth to Mac, come in Mac." Scatty was waving her hand in front of his face and he blinked. She tweaked his nose. "You went away for a minute," she said.

"Just thinking about things," he replied. "You know, I feel bad snooping into his life like this."

"No, you don't," she argued, surprising him. "You feel bad that you've let someone else- me- know that you're snooping into his life. You like gathering information; you're like an information packrat."

He huffed, but smiled at her. "Fine. I don't really mind digging through most people's possessions and backgrounds and everything, but Billy… The whole premise is flawed." He thought about telling her what he'd found on the internet search history he'd spent a good hour looking over, but decided against it the last minute.

Scatty fidgeted. She looked around the room as if casting around for a new subject. "Do you really leave the shades up like this, with all the lights on? No wonder that girl watches you, you're a studly idiot."

He cocked his head, glad they had shifted the conversation. "Do you really think I'm studly?" He flopped on his side, legs splayed. She punched his shoulder, knocking him over onto his back. "Oompf. No, I mean sometimes I do. It was hot when we first came here, we had a late summer and heat rises. So we kept the shades up, to let the air in." He flapped his arm, imitating a breeze. She wasn't buying it.

"So why doesn't she think you're gay?"

"What?!"

"If she saw you and Billy shacking up all the time," she ignored his protests, speaking a little louder, "figuratively shacking up all the time, why doesn't she think you're gay?"

"I may have gotten a bit more reckless in my behavior since Billy left," he admitted reluctantly.

Scatty perked up. "Yeah? What did you do?"

"Nothing!" He edged off the bed.

She followed him. "Come now, boo. Don't make me find out from Missy."

"I did," he hesitated, "perfectly acceptable things for a person to do with their own body and furthermore, I resent-" He broke into a slight jog, with Scatty chasing him around the room. "Resent your allegations-" he jumped on the bed and ran over it, "-that-" she tackled him and they landed backwards on the bed, "-okay, fine, some of it was depraved, but I'm allowed to do what I want."

She was laughing and he laughed too, half pinned underneath her; he hugged her. "You're a big slut, aren't you?" she asked him affectionately.

He grinned. "Yeah, pretty much."


	26. Chapter 26

Machiavelli was surprised to smell roses when he woke up the next morning. In fact, he didn't even remember going down to his bedroom last night… they'd been talking and… wait! He struggled against the covers, pulling himself into a sitting position. "Crap!" he swore weakly, finding Scatty looking up at him. "I had a feeling this was what happened!"

"Relax, boo," Scatty said distractedly. She went back to reading her book. "Not like we did anything last night."

"I didn't mean to stay here," he protested. "Why didn't you wake me up? I would have left."

"You seemed very comfortable. And I didn't mind really. It's not like I usually sleep at night anyways."

Machiavelli blinked slowly, still feeling very disoriented. _I'm really out of it._ "So… wait…" He scrubbed at his face. "You're not mad?"

She shook her head, not even gracing his question with an audible answer. "Did you know you talk in your sleep?"

His ears turned pink. "Yeah, I do that," he mumbled. "What embarrassing thing did I reveal last night?"

"I think you were a little horny."

"What? Really?"

She laughed. "No. I was just joking with you. I couldn't decipher a word you were saying," she assured him.

"Are you certain?" She nodded. "You're not lying to me?" She shook her head. He laid back down cautiously, still not sure this was the right thing to do. "Maybe I'm really just in love with this bed?"

"It is very comfy," she agreed.

"That's the memory foam," he said idly. "Do you want me to make you breakfast?" he asked, his voice muffled under all the covers.

"You don't have to. I'll get up and make something in a minute." She stretched, the vertebrae making popping noises as they were pushed into place. "So, am I on Billy's side or did I take yours?"

"Billy always sleeps on the left of the bed," Machiavelli explained. He crawled out of bed at last. "Well, at least I didn't ruin my suit."

"Nah, we got you out of that. Luckily." He grinned, hearing the sarcasm in her voice.

"Come on, get up," he urged her, holding out his hand. She turned over. "Don't be like that. It's time to get up. We have an adventure waiting for us."

She glanced up at him. "What are we doing?"

"Sorry. Can't tell you that," he remarked. "I recommend wearing- what do you call them- sneakers. We're going to be outside."

"You're really not going to tell me?" she asked, taking his hand at last. He shook his head. Pulling her to her feet, he swung her off the bed. "Why not? Am I not going to like this?"

"I hope you will," he told her. Niccolo leaned into the window, looking up at the sky. It was a beautiful day, he was happy to note. He felt all the gloom of the past week leave him. Turning around, he beamed at her. "I think you'll have fun. I haven't done this since I was a little boy, although we picked quinces. I assume it's roughly the same."

"What are quinces?"

He didn't answer. Pecking her on the cheek, he made to leave the room. "I'm going to get dressed," he told her instead. "Are you still making breakfast for us? I'll pack a lunch."

"So, what are we going to do?" she called after him, appraising his retreating body.

Machiavelli grinned. "I'm not going to tell you cause I don't want you to say no."

"Am I going to hate it?" she asked curiously. "What's your idea?"

He tilted his head, thinking it over. "It was Billy's idea, and no, I don't think you'll hate it. It should be fun- it's something Billy wanted to do, we just ran out of time before he had to go. And by the time he comes back it might be too late…" he trailed off, echoing Billy's arguments from their last phone call.

Before she could say anything else, he made his escape down the stairs. _I can't believe I fell asleep in bed with Scatty_ , he thought uneasily. He sighed. _More than that, I can't believe she let me._

"Apple picking," he mumbled out loud, flicking through his closet. "Another thing I never thought I'd be doing. Like wearing jeans…" He tugged a pair of denims off a hanger, the ones that looked to be in the worst condition, and tossed them onto the bed. His button down shirts, however, he couldn't bear to potentially ruin; he was thankful that he'd snagged some of the outlaw's shirts when he'd moved his stuff downstairs. Now he rifled through these, finally deciding on a Rolling Stones shirt. This, he covered with one of Billy's fleece pullovers.

Coming downstairs at last, he found the Shadow already dressed and making breakfast for them. "Am I wearing the right clothes?" she asked him, passing him a cup of coffee.

He glanced her over. "Yes, you picked very well." He began to put together their lunch, making sure he'd chosen all vegetarian options. "I do recommend a sweater though. It will be kind of chilly out there."

~MB~

"So why are we doing this, when the one person who would want to do it isn't even here?" Scatty asked, shutting the door to the Thunderbird and stepping out onto the grass. She looked at Machiavelli appraisingly. "You look sexier in jeans. Maybe you'd capture Billy if you wore them more often."

The Italian immortal didn't know what to say to the latter, so he focused on the former. "Billy wanted to go apple picking," he agreed. "But he's away and he says that the season is almost over. He promised he'd make me a pie after we went picking. I'm holding him to it."

"Billy would make an apple pie."

They walked down the lane together. Machiavelli looked at the trees around them, planted at careful intervals, and consequently stumbled over some of the unforeseen knolls. Scatty grabbed his hand, pulling him straight again. "Thanks," he told her.

"Maybe it's because I didn't know you personally before this, but I don't remember you being this absentminded," she told him archly.

"I blame Billy. I was always able to focus on the situation at hand before this. Now I'm always looking around. It's not the worst thing in the world," he postulated, "to see things that never interested me before. But I do stumble a lot more now, yes."

"What do you like best about Billy?" she asked. They approached the barn housing the main operations of the farm turned apple orchard.

Machiavelli thought about it. _What do I like best?_ He didn't have a read made answer. It was like being asked for a favorite song; something ever changing and unknown kept shifting the answer out of reach. "I don't know," he admitted. He held up one bag and she shook her head. She picked up a larger bag and he sighed, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Now who wants to be here?"

"We have to do it right, if we're going to do it." She backed up and read a sign. "Do you want to wait for the wagon?"

"No, let's just walk around on our own. There don't seem to be any rules against it."

She grinned. "I was hoping you'd say that."

"I think," Machiavelli said, as they climbed a steady slope, "I think what I like most about Billy is that he always sees the best in everyone. Even when there's not a lot of good in people and they're flawed or broken."

"Billy's a pretty good guy," she agreed. They came to a halt where their path ended. It split two ways, to the left dipping down, and to the right twisting out of sight. Signs directed them either way. To the left, they'd be able to pick Honey Crisp, Red and Yellow Delicious, Jonagold, and Honey Crisp. To their right were Cortland and Macintosh trees. "Which way?" she asked.

"I didn't know there was so many kinds of apples," he said, surprise drawing out his accent. He looked both ways. "To the right?" he suggested uncertainly. "Billy told me Cortlands are good for pies and Macs are good for eating. He brings it up every time he has an apple cause they're called Macs and I'm Mac, apparently, otherwise I wouldn't remember."

"Works for me. In my experience the Delicious variety are anything but." She wheeled to the right, tugging his arm to propel him forward. "So, are you going to climb a tree?" Scatty asked, nudging him gleefully.

He smiled. "Perhaps," he said coyly.

"I can't picture you climbing trees," she laughed. "Granted, now that you're younger, it'll probably go better, but still…"

"I used to climb trees all the time as a young child," he told her, looking over at her. "Of course, those were olive and cherry trees, mostly, but I imagine it's the same principle."

She tutted. "I'll believe it when I see it," she challenged him. Reaching the next orchard over, they stopped. 'Macintosh' a faded and peeling sign read. "This is your moment to shine," she said, giving him a little push.

"Should be fun." Giving a little jump, he caught hold of a branch much higher up than the Shadow would be able to reach. Hanging there for a second, he grinned at the bemused expression on her face, then, with a little twist of his lower body, he wedged one foot onto another nearby branch. He fit the other on a branch slightly higher up, then pulled himself over.

 _It is fun,_ he realized excitedly. He'd forgotten how much he'd enjoyed his childhood, how exhilarating it was to leave the ground behind, if only momentarily. Resting his shin on a yet even higher branch, he used his upper body strength to pull himself above, climbing the tree like it was a puzzle he was determined to solve. He sat down on a branch about ten or fifteen feet above the ground and beamed down at her. "Coming up?" he yelled.

"Nobody likes a show-off," she retorted, but a minute later, she was sitting next to him, having gotten up much easier than he had. "Huh, nobody has touched the apples up here."

"Probably most people can't reach them," he reminded her. He swung his legs happily. "Smells nice up here."

"Smells kind of sweet." She glanced around. "Now which apple are we going to pick?"

"Which one? Like we're only getting one apple for all that trouble?"

"You only pick one apple per tree or you're done in like two seconds," she told him impatiently. She ducked around the tree branches, leaning back precariously.

"That seems remarkably inefficient," he replied. "I wish you'd be careful," he added, carefully moving one leg so that they both hung down on either side. He reached out for her- to do what, he wasn't quite sure. _Mostly to reassure myself at this point,_ he decided.

"I'll be okay. How about that one?" she decided, indicating one hanging about three feet above them.

"I can get that one," he agreed. He pulled himself to a standing position, snagged it, and handed it to her. His weight shifting had caused an apple to tumble down to the ground underneath them. "Oops…"

"We'll grab it when we go down."

"Yeah, but you just said…" He followed her down.

Laughing, she practically flew down the side of the tree, landing catlike at the bottom. She watched him come down at a much slower rate. Arching an eyebrow, she put both hands on her hips and tapped her foot. Feeling a little adventurous, he jumped down the rest of the way, practically landing on her and causing her to jump back in surprise.

"Didn't think you'd do that," she said grumpily. "Thought that was the kind of hijinks I could only expect from Billy."

"Probably shouldn't have done that," he chuckled. "Could have twisted an ankle or something." Feeling like a gentleman, he took the bag from her.

They continued to banter back and forth. Scatty climbed the next tree; he took a picture of her. She had the ghost of a smile on her face, as she leaned over the branch, looking down inquisitively at him. He followed her up and showed it to her. Looking at it, she tucked her hair behind her ear; it fell out again.

Snagging an apple, she bit into it, bouncing up and down on the branch a little before she tossed it to him. He caught it only by pinning it to his chest at the last second, desperately hanging on to the branch closest to him for dear life. "I'm not a very good catcher," he clarified, seeing her amused look. "My family never threw fruit at each other."

"Try saying that five times fast," she said. "Threw fruit, threw fruit, threw-"

"I'm going to throw this fruit at you if you don't stop," he warned as menacingly as he could.

"You wouldn't do that," she laughed. "Billy probably would. But you're a gentleman."

"Billy's probably more of a gentleman than I am when we get right down to it," he countered.

She nodded sagely. "Must be that Irish upbringing," she said, actually sitting crisscrossed on the branch. He couldn't help but admire her balance.

"So, climb trees often?"

"Oh, all the time."

"Really?"

' _No,_ ' she formed with her mouth, looking amused. _I can never tell when she's being sarcastic,_ he thought. _Must be because she's always kind of sarcastic._

"Did they have apples on Danu Talis?" he asked, genuinely interested.

"Yes, but they were fairly different in taste to what we call apples today," she told him, grabbing another apple to munch. Biting into the apple, she sucked all the juice out in an obscene display of enjoyment.

"Danu Talis is what we call Atlantis today, isn't it?"

She half nodded, then shook her head. "I think some part of the legend of Danu Talis might have sparked the legend originally, but what we refer to as Atlantis is actually a Shadowrealm."

"How do you know this?"

"I've been there," she said rather indifferently. He squinted at her in disbelief. "What? When you've lived on the real thing, the Shadowrealm is just a cheap copy made by some Elder with too much time on his hands. Some bit of nostalgia…"

"I guess so." _But still, it's Atlantis- I'd still like to see it._ Having suspected for a long time what she'd just confirmed, he'd searched in vain for the entrance to this particular Shadowrealm.

She correctly interpreted the look on his face. "I can bring you there some time. We can bring Billy…"

"Billy would like that. I would like it too," he added, not wanting to sound any less excited than he actually was. He held up his apple core and looked around for what to do with it. Scatty held out her hand and feeling a little resigned, he handed it over. She lobbed it over her shoulder. It landed a good fifty feet away.

Brushing his hands off, he plucked a couple of apples from the tree and slipped them into their bag, which they'd hung on a branch below them. He held out his hands to help her down.

"Do you miss Danu Talis?" he asked her as they made their way down the sun speckled lane.

She paused, turning as if moved by the breeze. "A little," she admitted. "It was sad to see it crumble all over again… but there are many things that I prefer about this world to the last," she added, a steely note in her voice. "I've had a lot more freedom in this realm… And I'm away from the control of my family…" The Italian longed to probe this particular thread of the conversation further, but knew from experience that the Shadow would open up only when she wanted to, and no earlier.

They continued to work their way farther into the orchard until at last, when Machiavelli turned around, he couldn't see the barn below them. He knew it was there, tucked neatly behind carefully planted rows of spruce trees, but still he felt like they were now completely separate from the rest of the world.

Turning back, he saw that the Shadow had gone halfway down the lane and he hastened to follow her. "Are we done picking?"

"Just in this section," she replied. "Didn't Billy want you to get some Cortlands too?"

"He did." Stopping when they reached another path, Machiavelli looked at the dirt road winding back the way they'd come. "This must go back to the barn," he remarked, catching his bearings. "Do you know where the Cortland orchards are?"

She'd pulled out a map she'd grabbed at the barn. "Down this way a little," she said, taking a right. "Getting tired?" she asked as they worked their way through the trees.

"Hm? No." He did a little dance to prove his point, feeling pleasantly goofy.

"You can dance?" she exclaimed. "Why didn't you mention that? In all the time we've known you, honestly…"

"I have many surprises inside of me," he said drily. Amusement tugged up the corner of his lips.

She looked at him slyly. "Billy loves to dance," she pointed out.

He ducked his head. "I know."

"It's like you were made for each other," she teased him.

He sputtered. "Because we can both dance?"

She dropped out of the last tree. "Because of many reasons," she told him.

 _We both must be a little tired,_ he noted. _We're not climbing as many trees as before- guess we're getting old_. He let a little laugh escape at his own joke. He looked around warily, afraid she'd think him odd for laughing randomly, but she was focused on one particular piece of fruit above her and didn't seem to have noticed his odd behavior.

Now long past the usual lunch hour, they finally sat down to eat. Scatty stole two more apples to munch on and he was feeling very dozy.

Finally, Scatty grabbed his arm. "Look, there's the wagon- want to take it? Then we'd better run!" She grabbed his hand and pulled him down the path, both of them running full pelt. He clung to the bag of apples, afraid they were going to fall out as they ran.

Slowing, he found that the wagon had already stopped for them on the main path. "Need a ride?" the older man asked, one foot up on the baseboard.

"Yes, please," Machiavelli agreed, feeling a little winded for all of his boasting.

"Alright, into the back you go."

The Italian immortal helped Scatty up first then handed to her his bag of apples. He'd barely boosted himself into the light blue bed of the wagon before it started forward again. Scatty was laughing; her eyes sparkled bright green. "Thought you weren't tired," she teased him.

"It was," he panted, "a small change in pace, is all."


	27. Chapter 27

"Ludo?"

His dark hair son looked up at him and gave him a tight smile. "Papa."

Machiavelli eased down next to him, looking around. He recognized their surroundings as Sant-Andrea. "I'm so happy to see you," he told the twenty year old.

"Are you really happy to see me?" Ludovico seemed subdued and with a jolt, Machiavelli realized that this whole conversation had already taken place, had happened hundreds of years now and his son was long dead. Still, the boy was here _, only in my mind,_ Machiavelli realized. _I remember how this conversation ended back when it actually happened, too…_

"I really am," he said, tears filling in his eyes; he would give anything for this not to be a dream. He grabbed his son's hand, giving the fingers a firm squeeze. "I understand now why you stopped writing back to me."

Ludo looked over at him, a flash of fear in his eyes- that stopped the Italian magician's heart for a moment. "Papa, I can explain…"

 _Is the old conversation going to play out the way it did, no matter how I've changed?_ Machiavelli wondered desperately. _Of course, these are my memories… this isn't really happening…_ "I don't want any explanations," he said, then cursed. That was what he'd said last time too. He hastened to explain, himself. "I've missed you so much, Pippolo. You did such a good job doing everything I wasn't around to do."

"You're not mad?"

The Italian immortal shook his head. "No. I'm so sorry for what I said last time. I regret every mean thing I've ever said or done to you and your brothers and sisters. I wish I could take them all back now."

"It's okay. Really," he assured him, interpreting the look on his father's face. "I love you, we all love you. Will you go see Guido? He's been asking when you'd come…"

~MB~

"Mmm," Machiavelli sighed. Something had woken him up- a car honking on the street below perhaps. Without opening his eyes, he stretched out to his full six feet, rotating his hip so that it popped softly. He rotated his head in a similar fashion, relishing the small pleasures of the early morning.

"Having fun?"

The Italian jolted fully awake. "Scatty?" he cried out, propping himself up.

She saluted him, a little smile on her face. "Hi." She was crouched on his bed, sitting very nonchalantly. "I was wondering when you were going to wake up."

"How long have you been here?"

"Maybe ten minutes," she decided, looking at her watch.

He pulled the blankets up even farther. "I'm not wearing anything!" he protested.

"Yeah, I was going to ask you about that. Why didn't you put pajamas on? You seem kind of cold…"

He sputtered. "You're enjoying this too much," he protested at last, slinking low in the bed.

She grinned. "Yeah, a bit…" She shrugged. "Call me a cretin. You're really not wearing anything? Like, nothing?"

"I was… tired after yesterday," he explained defensively.

She got up off the bed and opened the top drawer to the dresser. Successfully locating his undergarments, she tossed one to him. He pulled it on under the covers and sat up at last. "What's the hour?"

"It's eleven." She cast a dark look at the photo album on his side table. "Why are you keeping that with you?"

"Good reminder not to get my hopes up," he said quietly. He rubbed his chest self-consciously; he was still not very used to being so exposed in front of anyone. It had been one thing for Billy to see him in various stages of undress- Billy had taken care of him all summer and had seen much worse. Now, he felt a little odd, being stripped down to his skivvies in front of the Shadow. Still, he had to get up at some point; might as well be now. He stood up.

She looked at him. "I think you should get your hopes up," she told him, but didn't pursue the conversation further. "You look older, Niccolo."

"I think I am a year old," he agreed. "Yesterday was the one week mark again since the last time." He stepped around her and peered into the closet. He carefully extracted a pair of dress pants and a button down shirt.

"Billy's missed two of your birthdays now, then," she said softly.

"He didn't remember. He didn't call," Machiavelli said, trying to sound nonchalant. "That's okay. Birthdays get old when you have them once a week." He smiled at her.

"How old are you now?"

Machiavelli pulled a face. He stopped getting dressed to think about it; he sat at the bottom of the bed in his socks and garters and thought it over. "My body is twenty, twenty one maybe. I'd have to ask Billy. I think he was keeping track of it in his notebook."

"In another week or two, you'll be the same age as our Kid," she reminded him.

He grinned. "Yeah, that will be a trip." He pulled up his pants and tucked his shirt in; the Italian immortal looked in the mirror on the closet door. "I think I'm finally back to my full height," he decided, feeling very happy about that particular fact. "Everything else is how long… everything else has grown in," he mumbled, realizing at the last minute what he was saying. He glanced at her and ducked his face away.

"Billy will be happy to hear it," she said drily.

He doubted it. "What would you like to do today?" he asked her, straightening his tie in his reflection.

"I had an idea I thought you might enjoy."

"Oh, yeah?" He raised an eyebrow.

~MB~

Machiavelli had doubted that they would find actually good quality suit shops in Philadelphia, but Scatty had decried his doubts as the opining of a snob. "Besides, now that you're your regular height, don't you want to wear the clothes that you normally would wear?"

"Sure," he agreed. "But I'm used to wearing top quality," he reminded her.

"Well, we might not be able to get the suit woven with actual gold- seriously, you had clothes like that?- but I'm also not suggesting we drop you off at a Men's Warehouse either."

Tilting his head, he'd agreed to let Scatty take him where she would. And that was how they'd found themselves in not one, not two, but three different shops.

The first shop was a strange mix of sedate and indecorous. True, you could buy a three piece, pinstriped suit. But you could also get-

"I want you to try this one on," she cajoled, holding up one dress shirt.

He took it hesitantly. "You and Billy are always trying to get me in strange colors."

"It's violet, boo. That's not a strange color." He made a slight face. She picked up another shirt. "How about iris?"

"That's a little better," he agreed, compromising. He matched a light blue tie with a diamond pattern to the shirt and set in in the pile. "I'll need a light gray suit," he mused, looking among the classic fit suits.

"I can't believe how much you like to shop," she laughed.

"I enjoy being well dressed," he said, holding one suit up to his body, then putting it aside in favor of another. He looked at his reflection in the full length mirror before glancing over at her. "I can't believe you enjoy shopping…"

"I'm having fun dressing you up. It's like having a life size Ken doll," she huffed, leaning against him. She made a goofy face at the mirror, making him laugh.

"Never pictured you to be the type that likes dolls…"

She held up a hand and rocked it back and forth. "Eh. My father never approved of the sort of thing so I wouldn't really know, but… this is fun."

The second location they found was not so much a suit shop as the apartment of a grumpy Italian tailor that Machiavelli, of course, took an instant liking to. Not two minutes into their interaction had passed before both men were chatting in rapid fire Italian, the immortal's usually accent free way of speaking now completely muddled by a pronounced _accento fiorentino_.

Scatty sat behind a table, watching with dubious interest as the two men, her tall thin companion and the portly mustachioed tailor, looked over suit fabrics, different cuts and styles of suits, and pictures of what she could only guess was the man's hometown.

She was pretty sure that at one point Machiavelli introduced the man but his name got mixed up among all the other Italian phrases being thrown around. Niccolo noted with some amusement that she took to calling the man Benvolio, something he found charmingly ludicrous.

Scatty watched with some amazement as the little tailor took twenty one different measurements of her companion, from the natural waistline to the scye depth. Machiavelli himself didn't mind the somewhat intrusive nature of taking measurements; he'd been fitted by far too many tailors to care who was measuring where. He wiggled his eyebrows at her, making her smile.

And after all that the tailor still had to make the suits commissioned to him by the Italian immortal. Machiavelli and him held a very spirited conversation over the particular fabric for each suit, arguing with each other in a familial sense of camaraderie. Despite banging the table at one point, causing the Shadow to startle, the two men still embraced at the end of the whole affair, acting like long lost brothers.

"I'm sorry, it was very rude of me to switch languages on you," he apologized as they made their way from the back of the apartment with the intention of going home and dropping off all their parcels.

"Io parlo italiano," Scatty said almost absently.

Machiavelli dropped his boxes where he was standing. Hastily gathering them up again, he looked at her in surprise. "Parli italiano? All this time?"

She nodded. "Naturally. I speak several languages, didn't I ever tell you that?"

"You didn't."

"Oh, I thought I did. Oh well."

He followed behind her throwing all the packages on the couch, distracted by this new information. "I miss having someone to speak Italian with," he said earnestly.

"I got that fact- I thought you two were going to be singing the Italian national anthem soon."

He gave her a lopsided grin. "Perhaps if we'd been there ten more minutes," he decided. "I do not have the chance to speak Italian with a native speaker very often, especially these days. I enjoyed today."

"You were surprisingly restrained," she observed, looking over his choices.

"Are you being serious?"

"I was actually. I'm not saying this won't come to an insane amount of money; I'm just saying knowing what a diva you are, I expected more."

Having finally extracted him from the tailor's humble abode, Scatty took one set of the boxes they'd bought and carried it in her left hand. "Have all the suits you could ever want now?"

He nodded. "For now," he agreed happily. "I love a good Italian suit."

"You don't say," Scatty said drily, but quietly. "Wait, Mac, where'd you go?" The Italian had stopped walking, meaning that she'd left him temporarily behind. As she doubled back to where he was, he glanced at her. "This better not be another suit shop," she said somewhat grumpily, coming to his side.

"It's not," he promised. "You are going to hate me though…" She raised an eyebrow. "Can we go in? For just a second?"

"Sure," she agreed, following him into the dusty bakery he'd noticed when they'd first passed, earlier that afternoon. After some serious discussion, they bought an entire chocolate Mogador cake.

"It feels like we've been in more than three shops today," she told him conversationally, the two immortals eating their way through opposite sides of the cake.

"That might just be the sugar crash," he told her, tapping his fork against him nose before realizing what he was doing. "Mm, I think we needed this."

"We definitely needed this." She yawned. "Next time I suggest we go shopping together, you'll remind me of this feeling, won't you?"

"Did you not have fun?" he asked her, somewhat anxiously.

"I did enjoy myself, really I did, Mac," she assured him. He looked unconvinced. "I probably should have realized how serious you would take this, is all. But it was fun dressing you up."

He smiled at her. "Want to find a dress now? I'll pay for it."

She huffed. "No, dressing me up is no fun. Besides, when would I ever wear a dress?" she pointed out. They packed up the rest of their cake and began to gather Machiavelli's packages.

"If you get a dress, I'll bring you out dancing," he enticed, exiting out onto the street again. "I think I'm all done buying clothes for a little while," he added thoughtfully. They strolled down the road, cutting down side streets to find their way home. He continued to coax her, feeling immeasurably happy.

Snagging his keys from his pocket, she bounced up the steps to open the door. "Fine, Mac, someday you can buy me a dress. But not right this moment. I'm tired of shopping. And no dancing tonight, either," she declared. "We've been walking around all day with all of these packages," she swept her hand in a wide circle to indicate the various articles of clothing around them.

"It was a superb suggestion," he said, his face glowing with enjoyment. "I greatly enjoyed our shopping trip. You're very patient."


	28. Chapter 28

When Machiavelli woke up the next morning, the house was quiet and he experienced a momentary spasm of fear. _Did Scatty leave? Why can't I hear her?_ He ran his hands over his face, feeling bleary eyed in the early morning light. Outside the sky was the light slate blue shade of October. He got up to get dressed.

By the time he had knotted his tie in place and turning, picked up his suit jacket, he felt more at ease. _Don't be crazy, why would Scatty leave without saying goodbye?_ Entering the tiny bathroom on his floor to finish putting himself together, he happened to glance out of the window and found his red headed friend. The remaining panic instantly dissipated _. She's in the backyard, you big baby, he chided himself, feeling a little foolish for his unease._

He made his way downstairs. The only way to the backyard from the house was to go down to the basement, where the kitchen was, and back up the backstairs. This seemed like a design flaw to the Italian immortal, but he reasoned that he had grown accustomed to more wide open spaces. "Buongiorno," he called to her, careful not to scuff his shoes in the dirt as he made his way over to where she was sitting.

She looked up from her book. "Good morning, sleepy head," she called back, stretching and arching her back like a cat.

He glanced at his watch. "It's only nine," he pointed out.

She crooked a finger at him, motioning him closer to her. He was completely unprepared for her to grab his tie and pull him down to her level. "Pretend to be kissing me."

"What?" he mumbled, but he tilted his head and moved a little closer to her. _If everyone had their conversations this close, nobody would ever be able to lie about anything_ , he thought wildly, counting the freckles on her left cheek.

"Your friendly neighbor has been pretending to read a book in the window for the past twenty minutes," she informed him, caressing the side of his face.

"And so have you, haven't you?" he asked, indicating the upside down book in her hand.

She lifted her eyebrows. "I enjoy mapping out my surroundings. I've been getting to know the lay of the land."

He surprised her by actually kissing her; just a peck on the lips really, but her green eyes flickered with confusion. He straightened up and laughed. "Here, I'll sit next to you, just let me get the broom to knock off the dirt from the chair."

"I can do that for you," she volunteered, setting her book aside.

"Would you?" he asked gratefully. "I just don't want to get my suit dirty." Walking back into the house, she grabbed the broom and turned to go, but he called her back. "Have you eaten yet today?" he asked. She shook her head. "Scatty, you've got to eat. I'm going to make you something." He poked around in the fridge.

She glided over to his side. "An omelet?" she asked hopefully.

"I could make you an omelet," he agreed. "What do you want on it?"

She frowned, thinking about it. "Spinach, onions, peppers… oh, could you put feta cheese on it after?"

"Do we have feta cheese?"

"Of course. I put it on my salads," she explained promptly. Reaching up, she tucked a stray hair back into place on his forehead. "The suit makes you look more like you did when we first met all those years ago."

"I remember when we first met," he commented, sautéing the vegetables before breaking eggs into a bowl. She pulled herself up on the island to listen to him. "You shoved me through a door. Why'd you do that anyways? You never told me."

"Sorry," she apologized cheerfully. "If I'm remembering correctly, you struck a nerve… something about my using only brute force…it reminded me of my father. He used to compare Aiofe and me. He always was fonder of her because of her cunning."

He looked back at her. "I'm sorry too," he said sincerely.

She waved a hand. "I thought we'd moved past that." She waggled her eyebrows at him.

He snorted a little. "I was picking splinters out of my shoulders and back for weeks after," he mumbled. He gave her a half grin. "I guess I deserved it. Your father should have never compared you and your sister, you know."

She stopped swinging her feet. "Think so?" she asked lightly.

He tipped her omelet onto a plate. "I do. It's been my experience that daughters are always wildly different from each other- take my girls."

"They were very different?"

He smiled. "Very." He plated his own breakfast, thinking about it. "They were several years apart- I think that added to some of the differences. Primerana was very studious, very obedient. Baccina was a wild child."

"Which one did you like best?" Scatty asked, leading him towards the door. She snatched up the broom on her way out and hastily knocked as much of the dust off the chair as she could before letting him sit down. They both sat down together. He handed her a fork.

"My children were all so different, it's hard to say that I loved any of them more than any of the others." He tilted his head. "Primerana caused less trouble, but Baccina was very sweet too, you know, which made up for it. She'd raise hell all day, but at night she'd sit in my lap and listen to me read to her- all kinds of books, she didn't care- and she'd beg me to let her stay up a little bit later, just read one more chapter Papà…"

Scatty was listening with rapt attention. Machiavelli couldn't make out what was going on behind her expression so he kept telling her stories. "I remember attending my own funeral in disguise," he told her baldly. "Baccina made this noise- I'd never heard her make it before- it was like a rattle inside of her. I wanted so much to run to her and tell her it had all been a mistake…" He looked up at the blue sky above them. Speaking to the clouds, he finished his story. "I didn't though. I told myself lies to make me feel better and I left her thinking her father was dead because I thought to myself, how could she ever trust you again after all of this?"

"I don't think my father ever loved me," Scatty admitted, scooting closer to him. "I was too wild for him."

"If your father didn't love you then he didn't deserve you, Scatty," Machiavelli assured her. "I know it seem a little strange for me to say because I look so much younger right now, but I would have been proud to have been your father. Anyone would."

She seemed embarrassed by the attention. "Tell me about more of your happier memories."

"Hmm… When Baccina was really young," he told her, "she used to throw these terrible fits to get what she wanted where she'd just," he laughed, "take off all of her clothes, piece by piece. I think she did it to see how far she could go. Marietta used to get so upset by it all, which I think only fed Bice's power." He rubbed the side of his face. "On one of the rare occasions that it was just me and the children, she went into one of her tantrums and I just… let her." He set his plate aside. "Piero was trying to reason with her and I told him to just ignore it, so we led this naked, screaming four year old through Florence. As I understand it, for all the rest of her life she remained infamous for that one incident…"

"Your wife must have been furious when she heard about it."

"She was," he confirmed. He crossed one leg over the other. "She got hell from our neighbors about it. Definitely heard about it for a while. They all found it funny, you see."

"Baccina calmed down a lot when Guido was born… I think she felt that he was her responsibility…" He continued, the stories sparking a flood of memories. It had been so long since he'd talked, really talked, about his children, and he found that it was a lot less painful than he had thought it might be. There were so many memories he'd forced himself to forget, to not think about, that he felt he could sit for a week in their backyard telling the Shadow stories and he wouldn't have tapped even a fraction of them.

~MB~

A few hours later, Machiavelli was surprised to find his phone buzzing. Glancing at it, he was even more surprised to find that it was Billie Holiday calling. She must have liked me more than I thought she did. "Hello?"

"Hello, sugar lips."

He mouthed for words. "Hi, Billie. How are you?" he finally managed to ask.

"I'm jonesing for company," she said languidly, almost disinterestedly, like it had been the Italian who'd called her instead of the other way around. "Whatcha doing tonight?"

"I didn't have any plans, actually. Would you like to come over?" he asked, glancing out the window at Scatty and remembering too late the Kid's warning about them not getting along. "I have some company, but it would be fine."

There was silence on the other end and he waited, jangling his leg nervously. Just when he was about to ask if she'd gone away, she spoke up. "I don't want to come if you've got company."

"It would be fine," he pleaded, not sure why he was trying so hard to get her to come, but knowing that he'd really like to see the jazz singer. "Listen, I know you're last meeting didn't go so well, but I think that-"

"I know your company?"

"Well," he paused, "yeah. I mean there's not too many American immortals. I'm sure you've met all of them at some point."

"Who is it?"

"I don't want to tell you," Niccolò stalled.

"Why?"

"I can't tell you that one. I actually really can't tell you because I'm not completely sure of the reason myself," he pointed out. The jazz singer began to protest and he quickly talked over her. "I promise you'll have a good time. I'm going to text you the details of where to meet. Please come?"

"Fine…" He could tell that she deeply resented his caginess, but he was glad to have nailed her down to an appearance. She hung up on him.

Machiavelli tapped his lips, thinking about his options. If he told Scatty that they were having dinner with Billie, she wouldn't go. If Billie knew Scatty was here, it was unlikely from what Billy had told him, that she would agree to go out. _So… if I tell neither of them about the other they will both come and I will find out exactly what's going on… but I will have to deal with both of them potentially angry with me… Is it worth it?_ He decided it was, his curious nature getting the better of him.

Booting up Billy's laptop- and sincerely wishing for the millionth time that his own laptop had survived their treacherous trip to Alkatraz- he searched for locations that were near Billie Holiday's apartment. He finally decided on a place called the Cook and Shaker and texted Billie the details about where to meet them, failing to mention his red-haired companion. Finally he grabbed up the book Scatty had asked him to get her, and he made his way downstairs. "Want to go out to dinner?" he asked Scatty.

"Sure," she agreed readily. "Are we going now? What do you feel like?"

"I want to try a new place- it's in Kensington. I checked and they have vegetarian options."

"Sure, I'll go anywhere with you boo."

That made him feel a little guilty. "I'm sorry we don't do more exciting things," he apologized. "Billy plans the fun things. I'm more…"

Scatty got in the car. "I'm enjoying our time together, Niccolo. Really I am. I never thought we'd be friends."

"Well that's true," he agreed, seizing on the opportunity. "Funny how you think you might hate someone and then you spend a little time with them and you find out they're fine." Scatty gave him a little look and he decided he was putting it on too thick.

It wasn't until they were already seated at the restaurant, and he'd informed their waiter of a third party, that he let Scathach know they were going to be joined by company. _This way, she can't run away from me. At least not easily. Well, she could do it easily, but hopefully she won't,_ he argued with himself, sitting on the outer part of the booth with her.

"Who else is coming?" Scatty asked, piercing him with her green eyes.

He shifted a little under her scrutiny. "Another immortal that Billy introduced me to. Apparently you've met her before…"

"Someone I know, that Billy also knows…" Scatty looked down at her hands, silently running through the names of people that both the Kid and she knew. "Wait a minute…"

He tried to head her off. "Just remember that you and I didn't get along very well until this summer and now we're very good friends, aren't we, Scatty?" he asked desperately, catching the frown on her face.

"I know one immortal in Philadelphia that Billy also knows," she said in a low voice. "And if it's who I'm thinking of…" Her threat trailed off dangerously at the end, waiting for his confirmation of what she'd already deduced for herself.

"It's Billie Holiday," he admitted in a quiet voice, trying to calm her through sheer force of his own will.

She tried to get up but he was blocking her in to the booth. "Why on Earth are we eating dinner with her?" she said louder than he had hoped she would. Several patrons looked around nervously, then ducked their heads hastily. Machiavelli caught the tail end of a sympathetic glance thrown to him by one older man sitting in the corner with what the Italian presumed was his wife.

"Now Scatty, stay with us for one meal and I promise I will never force you to see her again," he beseeched, kissing her cheek. "I'll owe you a big favor, okay? You can call it in at any time, years from now if you want," he added, not sure why he was exposing himself in such a way for one meal.

She quieted, perhaps following his train of thought, perhaps lulling him into false sense of security in order to better decapitate him later. "One meal," she told him firmly, holding up a finger, "just one and you promise never to trick me again. Agreed?"

"Absolutely," he said fervently.

Their waiter came around again, almost approaching their booth timidly. "Still waiting on the third person?" he asked, sounding incredibly reluctant.

Machiavelli straightened his tie, taking Scatty's hand with his other. "Yes. She should be here shortly. Thank you."

Looking relieved, the tall thin man scurried away, taking an order from another patron in their section.

The two immortals sat quietly, Scatty not talking to him necessarily and Machiavelli allowing the silence to play out. Glancing at his watch, the Italian mentally calculated how long he had before he could expect the jazz singer to show up on the property. _And how long before WW3 begins…_ "If I may, why do you hate Billie so much?" he asked quietly, reflecting that he should have broached this subject before agreeing to eat in a very small, very public restaurant.

"I don't hate her," Scatty said frostily, scanning the menu again.

"Scatty…"

"Well you've met her, do you find her easy to deal with?"

"She certainly has an abrasive personality," he agreed and she relaxed marginally in his peripheral vision. He stroked her thumb with his own. "If you really don't want to have a meal with her, I could call and say something came up, reschedule for a time with just me and her."

Scatty softened. "I can't do that to you. Besides, I really don't hate her." Machiavelli considered this a touch unreasonable given her earlier reaction but let it go. She clarified. "I just don't want to spend any time with her."

Machiavelli tilted his head, wondering how this worked exactly.

"You're third person is here," a voice chirped on his side and he realized that he hadn't been paying enough attention to his surroundings and now, here was Billie. A look of disapproval was etched on her face, and Machiavelli thought he was going to have to argue with her too, but she sat on the other side of the booth with good grace.

At least until the waiter left. "You didn't say that we'd be eating with her," she said, indicating Scatty with a jaunty nod of the head, but otherwise ignoring her.

"To be fair, he didn't tell me I'd have to eat with you either," Scatty tossed back at her.

"Well, at least I know you don't play favorites, flapjack."

"Flapjack? Ladies, please…" It occurred to him at that moment that neither of his companions really fit the lady category well, both being imposing in their own special way; this thought he pushed away impatiently. "I do apologize; I shouldn't have tricked either of you, but I care about both of you and wanted to see both of you. We can't at least be civil to each other? Or at the very least, put in our order?" he added, catching his waiter pass their table for a third time.

For a few minutes there was silence as they picked their way through their options.


	29. Chapter 29

Much later, a very shell shocked Machiavelli would agree that at least his dinner hadn't been boring.

But at the present, the Italian immortal felt himself tugged in a variety of directions. He was stuck somewhere between horror and amusement, curiosity and dread. For the first half of their meal, neither woman had spoken to each other, choosing instead to converse only with him. He'd made the best of it, tacitly ignoring the exchange of glares and one fairly rude hand gesture.

 _Their waiter had taken the standoff less in stride_ , Machiavelli reflected, looking at his empty water glass and fruitlessly trying to make eye contact with the stout man.

It wasn't even that the two female immortals were shouting at each other. They both seemed equally poised in contempt. Machiavelli knew that Scatty was actually a relatively gentle, sometimes damaged soul; their fellow patrons on the other hand were trying not to eye their table with the wariness that radiated off their personages.

An uncomfortable silence persisted when Machiavelli stopped talking. _I can wait_ , he thought, wondering how long the two women would let this situation fester before one of them would begin talking. His long fingers tapped against the table.

 _Maybe if we weren't in one of the poorest parts of one of the most dangerous cities in the country people wouldn't look at us like we're a series of bombs about to go off,_ he decided. "Neither of you can find one issue to agree upon?" he finally asked in frustration. "I've heard from both of you now that neither of you hates the other, but still somehow, I'm the only person you want to talk to?"

Scatty grimaced, but surprised him by addressing the jazz singer. "Still in the same apartment?"

"Why mess with a good thing?" she said back stiffly, but Machiavelli relaxed. _At least they're talking._

"How long have you lived in San Francisco?" he asked Scatty.

She frowned, thinking about it. "Quite a while now. It was where I was living when Billy- not you- and I went on our adventure. That was the first time we'd met."

"You haven't lived in Europe?"

"I did," Scatty said. She chewed her food. "I've found that I usually prefer American immortals. Not that I haven't taken to you, just… you can avoid the American immortals you don't get along with." She indicated the jazz singer with a sweep of her hand. Billie shrugged. "It's harder to avoid the European immortals. I don't know if it's cause everything is all jammed together over there… or because they have a higher opinion of their importance… but I know that Dee had never before this occasion deigned to come over here. That was half the appeal."

"Of course, there's that stuck up bitch Virginia Dare," Billie mumbled, making a volcano out of her mashed potatoes.

"Did you know Virginia Dare?" he asked the singer with interest.

"Stuck up bitch," she said with some force behind her words.

"So you have met her," Scatty said idly.

Machiavelli jumped when the jazz singer laughed; it was the last reaction he'd expected. It would appear that the two female immortals had something in common- a mutual dislike of Ms. Dare. He himself didn't hate her, but understood that she didn't ingratiate herself to others.

"Unfortunately."

"I bet she loved you," Scatty said, leaning forward. Her eyes glinted with mischief.

Billie scoffed. "She looked at me like I was dog shit that she'd just stepped in. You'd think for someone that literally grew up in the woods," she said each word slowly, enunciating the words with derision, "she'd be a little less judgmental."

"How'd you meet her?" Machiavelli asked Billie. Scatty, he figured, probably came across her through her allied ties to the Flamels and Dare's ties to John Dee.

"We dated the same girl- different points of time, but still makes me shudder." She took a long sip of her drink. She twitched.

"Virginia plays for the other team?" Scatty asked interestedly. Machiavelli felt better himself- for a moment he'd wondered if he'd missed something patently obvious.

"I think that white chick plays for whatever team she thinks is winning," Billie said disinterestedly. Machiavelli stored this information internally. Scatty looked like she could have said more, but he gave her a slight nudge and she shut her mouth, albeit reluctantly.

"I don't think Billy cares for Virginia either," Scathach said, as if that settled matters.

Billie looked thoughtful. "Where's the Kid? I thought he'd be back by now from wherever he was" she asked, and Niccolò realized that he hadn't explained Billy's absence yet, even when they'd had lunch together the week before.

"He's trying to keep Black Hawk from killing their master," he said quietly.

She nodded. "Black Hawk could be very stupid, at times. Strange though that Billy's become the level headed one in that pair."

"Didn't you date Black Hawk?" Machiavelli asked her, a little taken aback that she was so critical of the Native American immortal.

"We mostly fucked," she said indifferently. Scatty actually laughed at that, hastily looking out the window.

"Ah," Machiavelli said, not knowing what else to say to her brazen admittance of sexuality. "Well Billy's not impetuous, he's able to make solid decisions."

"Hmmm…" Machiavelli stiffened under her gaze. Billie rapped her knuckles on the table in front of the Shadow, getting her attention. "You think pizzabagel here's in love with the Kid too, don't you?" Scatty looked over at the Italian immortal and shrugged. The jazz singer thrummed with ill-disguised pleasure. "I knew it."

"I said nothing," Scatty said idly.

"But you're thinking the same thing I am," Billie accused her, watching her closely. "You didn't deny it."

"Don't be daft," Scatty said, taking a sip from her water glass.

"It's okay, Scatty," Machiavelli murmured. He blushed slightly. "I do have feelings for Billy," he admitted to the jazz singer, looking at her, but spinning the ring on his finger nervously. "But I have no expectation of him reciprocating those feelings... and I think these will go away too, with time."

"Oh, sure, that's how it always happens," Billie said sarcastically. She rolled her eyes and smacked him across the table. "Are you serious? You want something, you have to go after it!"

"I hate to agree with her," Scatty rolled her eyes at the black immortal and Billie snorted, "but that's what I've been telling you."

"Wait a minute," Niccolò protested. "All night the two of you have been arguing. This is what you're going to agree on? I should pursue my definitely heterosexual, only friend in the world on a whim?"

"Well, Billy's not your only friend- that's a little insulting- but yeah, basically," Scatty agreed.

The singer smacked him again. "You tell him or I will."

"Don't you dare," he said, trying to be tough with her. He gave her a stern look.

She ignored him. Snapping her fingers, she flagged down their waiter. "Hey, garcon, what does a lady have to do to get a dessert menu around here?"

Flicking through the menu, she took the time to point at him. "I'm just looking out for you," she said, in her bossiest voice. "Now I know you might look at me and think 'she screws everything with three legs and gets along just fine,' but I'll have you know it's not a barrel of laughs."

"Please talk a little quieter," he begged.

She ignored that too. "This is why you and Billy got so defensive last month when I found out you were sharing a bed."

"I'll give you a few more minutes to decide." Their waiter had unfortunate timing, apparently. Machiavelli looked at him with horror and opened his mouth to protest, but the man was already gone. He practically flew over to the teenagers sitting two booths over. _This is probably the first time that man has ever been thankful to have teens to wait on,_ Machiavelli thought ruefully.

He could feel the blush creep up his neck, but he still attempted to save face. "We never did anything. We were only sharing a bed because there was only one bed in the apartment."

"And yet you've got that big squishy box in the living room." Billie laughed. Snapping her fingers, she pointed to the Shadow. "What do they call those? Coaches? Conch shells? I'm so close to it; don't tell me. Hey!"

Their waiter made his way back over. "Yes, ma'am?"

"I'm going to have a banana split. Skinny here is going to have your chocolate cream puff brownie sundae."

"Is that even really a thing?"

"He'll take two," she cut over him, handing back their menu.

"I'll have apple pie and decaf coffee," Scatty said, also speaking over Machiavelli's protests. "Mac, maybe you should consider talking to Billy about how you feel."

"Fuck him," Billie goaded.

Scatty shook her finger at him. "Don't do that."

"Get him out of your system, honey," Billie said, slapping his hand.

"Tell him that you kissed, at least."

"Ooh…" Machiavelli and Scatty both winced. He glared at her and she shrugged, having the good grace to look apologetic. "You and Billy kissed? Wait, why doesn't he remember? Are you a bad kisser?"

"Niccolò's not a bad kisser," Scatty defended him.

"Wait, this one too? No, let's not focus on her- does Billy lean to the left or the right?"

Machiavelli waved both hands, closing his eyes. "I wouldn't possibly be able to know that because I never did anything with him," he repeated, drawing out the end of his sentence for emphasis. _To the left though_ \- _stop it Niccolò,_ he thought and blanched.

"How can you say that, when just two seconds ago, she said you kissed?"

"Alright, fine, we kissed, but it meant nothing. And Billy was too drunk to remember it happened and it didn't mean that much to me…"

Their dessert came. Billie looked at him with a gleam in her eye. "Are you willing to prove that?"

Scatty frowned at her. "That's not going to help anything."

"What do you mean?" Machiavelli asked the singer wearily. He leaned forward and Scatty was forced to copy him to stay in the conversation.

"Let's go to a bar tomorrow night. Pick up a girl."

Scatty touched his shoulder. "Don't do it, Niccolò. You can't just give up hope."

Machiavelli was watching the black immortal's face. He steepled his fingers, listening quietly, which goaded her into further speech. "If you really believe that Billy is not going to be interested in you the way you are with him, then the healthiest thing to do is to move on. And the best way to move on is to hook up with someone else."

He grimaced. "I couldn't do that. I don't need to do that."

"If you don't do something, you're going to spend the next few centuries pining away after him. Why not just tell him? If he says no, then you'll have your answer. And you can move on."

Machiavelli was quiet. The core of what Billie was saying had some truth in it, even if most of it seemed like poor advice to him. Still, though… _If I told him, I would have my answer. And if it wasn't the answer I wanted, I'd lose what I have now._ He wouldn't admit it to anyone else, but there was still a small flicker of hope inside of him, and he found that he'd rather pine, as Billie said, than lose it entirely. He glanced at Scatty.

She was gazing at him steadfastly- it made him feel like he'd swallowed something warm. "I'll go to a bar with you," he told Billie, agreeing with her. "But that doesn't mean… I'm giving up. You're going to come too, aren't you?" he asked Scatty urgently.

She smiled, her pointed teeth showing. "Course."

~MB~

"I can't believe we were in there for almost three hours, it didn't feel like it, did it?" Billie chatted as they made their way back to her apartment. In between erstwhile rambles, she would throw out directions seconds before they became relevant, fraying Machiavelli's already shattered nerves. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief, pulling up in front of her apartment at last.

"I believe it," Scatty commented darkly from the backseat.

"I did have fun tonight though," Machiavelli told the jazz singer, marveling in his truthfulness. He made to touch her shoulder, but she jerked away from him and he withdrew his hand with an apology. Clearly all physical contact had to be on her terms.

They got out of the car, though she told Machiavelli he did not need to walk her all the way up. They stood instead on the sidewalk, sirens cutting through the night in the distance. Up ahead, a boombox thrummed music.

Billie looked over at Scatty. Their eyes locked and Machiavelli tensed, expecting an argument to erupt after the day's precariously restrained interactions. The jazz singer surprised him though. With a funny little nod, she smiled at the Shadow. "I'm sorry about what I said last time we saw each other."

Scatty's anger seemed to crumble. "It's okay," she said, crossing her arms in front of her body. She opened her mouth to say something else, but couldn't bring herself to do it apparently, and closed it again. She tapped her foot. "So we're going out tomorrow night?"

"Sure. Do you have a specific place in mind?"

"We have no plans right now," Scatty admitted. "I'm not very familiar with the geography of Philly." She sized up Machiavelli. "But I was thinking we should bring him somewhere fun." Machiavelli started to protest, having decided their plan was lunacy, but the jazz singer's eyes lit up and the mirrored mischief on his two companions' faces was enough to silence his feeble excuses. "I'll think about where we're going when I get home tonight and Niccolò will get back to you," Scatty told the other woman. "He must have your number."

"He does," Billie confirmed. Without another word, she retreated into her house.

Scathach looked at him and laughed. Without warning, she threw her arms around his middle, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his nose. "You're lucky you're cute, Niccolò, that's all I have to say. Get in the car. Take me home."

He glanced at her on their way back into the house that night, but didn't ask the question he wanted to.

"You want to know why Billie and I don't get along," she said, interpreting his silence.

"You don't have to tell me. It's none of my business."

She flicked on the light in the living room, a soft orange glow making her look somehow both older and younger at the same time. "No, I'll tell you. We met only once, back when Billy brought me here after we worked together on an… adventure… Black Hawk was staying over too. Him and Billie- the woman, that is- they were dating at that point."

"I didn't know you'd been in this apartment before," Machiavelli couldn't help but say. It made him feel somehow smaller inside, knowing that of all the people in Billy's life, he had the least amount of history.

"I didn't stay for very long. Nora and I had an argument and I went back to the West Coast. Billy tried to get me to stay, but I wouldn't do it…"

Niccolò moved around the room, closing the shades. He looked back at her, not rushing her.

She made a face. "I may have overreacted- I don't think she means to hurt people, she's just such a cantankerous little… She said something that struck a nerve, but you see how she is in a conversation…"

"Want to play a game of chess?" he asked her. She nodded, so he set up the chess set that Billy'd given him over the summer on the little table in the corner of the living room. He pulled the table out a little so they could both sit comfortably. Sauntering over, Scatty dropped down into the seat opposite him.

"You know you don't have to do anything tomorrow night, right?" she asked bluntly.

He nodded. "I don't think what Billie said was completely accurate. She made it sound like those were my two options- talk to him now or give up. The way I figure it is," he moved his pawn, "I have a third option, to take my time. Maybe I'll be able to…" he trailed off. And shrugged. "Do you think I'm being foolish?"

"No," she said instantly.

He smiled at her. "You're a good friend Scatty. You've been so patient with me."

"We've both been alive a long time. Longer than either Billy. You and I know that things don't happen right away." Scatty took her turn.

"Do you honestly believe that Billy would ever love me?" He moved his queen side knight.

She moved her bishop. "Billy already loves you."

Machiavelli didn't know what to say after that. They were quiet for a while, their match quickly progressing. He found they were equally matched in skill- what he gained from tact and planning, she possessed in daring. "I don't need to have a relationship with him in that way," Machiavelli said finally, checking her king. "I've done alright on my own."

"Do you really believe that?"

"I have to." He smiled at her, feeling both happy and sad. "Checkmate."


	30. Chapter 30

AN: Sorry for the delay. I've been a bit preoccupied these days. Hope everyone is well!

* * *

"We really cut it close," Scatty observed, glancing at her watch. "Bet you thought I'd be quicker, clothes shopping and all."

"I knew we'd get out of there in good time. All we have to do is go home, change, and we'll be ready."

"Your faith is astounding," she said drily.

"I can't believe you bought heels," he told her.

She shrugged. "I figured you're going to be my main dance partner tonight. We had to do something to bridge the foot difference in our heights."

He laughed. "I'm sorry. We're at opposite sides of the spectrum. Do you like to dance?" he asked, turning onto their road.

"No, not really," Scatty admitted. She swung the box with her dress back and forth. "It makes me feel foolish cause I'm never so uninhibited that I relax."

"I like dancing, but I wouldn't call what they do in clubs dancing," Machiavelli commented. He pointed halfway down the road. "That's the club Billy and I went to."

"That's the night you both got drunk?"

"Yeah. We only went to a club once before Billy went away. I find the clubs a little overwhelming," he added. "Too many people, too dark, you can't tell what's happening around you."

"So why are we going?" Scatty joked feebly.

"Well, I'm going because I'm trying to learn how to have fun like a typical twenty year old does. You're going because let your foolish sense of friendship and loyalty overcome your good reason."

"So I should ditch you and stay home, eating ice cream?" She raised an eyebrow, looking at him.

"It's what I'd do if I was in your situation." He grinned. "Only kidding, of course. Hey, stop for a minute."

The Italian dashed into the flower shop before she could protest. He came back with a bouquet of larkspur, roses, and hydrangeas. "For you, mia signora."

"I bet you could get away with anything, with that accent of yours," she said, smiling when she didn't think he was looking.

"I find I have more power with it over here, then when I'm in Europe," he stated thoughtfully. A grin tugged at his lips. It had been a long time since he'd been in the regular company of a woman and he found that it was still instinctual for him to shower his loved ones with gifts. His daughters and wife, he'd always managed to bring them back some sort of treasure. Being with Scatty made him feel the same wave of happiness. "I'm very fond of you, Scatty."

"Why, though?" she laughed.

"I don't know. I just do."

Scatty's phone buzzed. She flipped it open and read the text. "Billie texted me."

"My Billy?"

"No, sorry." She patted his back. "The other one. Lady Day. She has two bars she'd like to go to," she said, scrolling through the text. "Howl at the Moon and then one called Forbidden Fruit?" She raised her eyebrow and looked up at him. He shrugged, having never heard of either. "Well, I'll tell her yes then, if you're okay with it."

"Sure…" Finding himself at their door, he fumbled with his keys. "When does she want to meet?" he asked, heading upstairs.

She trailed after him. "In an hour. At Howl at the Moon."

"See, we've got plenty of time. I'm going to put on a different suit."

"Yeah, I'll put my dress on." Scatty said the word dress like it was poison. He chuffed.

Shutting his door, he hung up the suit he was wearing, reflecting that it was a little too dressy for what he'd witnessed the last time he went out. He selected a more casual cut, though he still wore his suspenders and garters. He'd just finished pulling on his suit jacket when he heard a tap at the door.

Scathach was standing there, loosely hanging on to her heels. "You look so pretty, Scatty," he told her lovingly.

She ducked her head. "Sure," she agreed, not sounding like she believed him. "I, uh, need your help." He waited, knowing she didn't easily ask for assistance. "I need you to do up the zipper in the back.

"Oh. Certainly." She held up her hair and turned around. He paused, the intimacy of the moment not lost on him. Not wanting to seem like a creep, he quickly zippered her into the dress, fastening the clasp at the top of the zipper. Turning around, she smiled at him, a little shy. "You should wear the dress when Billy comes back," he told her.

"Why?"

"He'll tell you how pretty you are too." _And he would,_ Machiavelli knew he would. He felt a rush of gratitude once more, knowing that Billy viewed Scatty as a friend, a sister, but not a potential lover. He felt, watching her hop around ridiculously, trying to get her shoes on, that both American immortals could have found happiness with each other.

"Ready to go?" she called over to him. Rousing himself from his reverie, he nodded.

~MB~

He was relieved to find out that this bar was actually nicer than the club Billy and he had gone to the other week. He looked around at their setting.

Exposed brickwork met the wooden beams of a high ceiling. A long bar ran the length of the back wall, bottles gleaming in the semi-darkness. It had been brighter when they'd first gone- without noticing it the lights had been dimmed as the hour progressed.

Machiavelli thought it must have been the live band that had attracted Lady Day to this particular establishment. Continuous jazz numbers seemed to fill the crowded space with a heartbeat.

Despite the pleasant surroundings, the Italian immortal couldn't help but feel that he'd made a misstep in agreeing to come out here tonight. Surrounded by all these young people, carefully ensconsed in all the pleasures and tribulations of the truly young, he felt himself a fraud.

Upon voicing this sentiment to his companions, he was handed a drink that he would have never ordered himself. Lady Day seemed to think that most life problems could be solved with a bottle, but the look of sympathy on Scatty's face told him that he was not totally alone in feeling like a fish out of water.

"Make the best of the situation," Scatty suggested. And he tried, not wholly unsuccessfully either- it was fun to be out dancing; the activity was always something he'd enjoyed and the movement helped occupy his mind sufficiently enough that he felt some of his doubts slip away.

He danced every dance with Scatty, his sobriety enabling his sudden bout of shyness. The Shadow too, seemed pleased with this arrangement- she confessed to him that being among large crowds of humans made her inexplicably uneasy.

Billie shared neither their shyness nor their loyalty. A social butterfly with damaged wings, she encouraged the affections of both men and women, seeming to derive the most pleasure from denying her partners what they demanded.

"Her confidence might be for show, but it's a convincing one," he murmured in his dance partner's ear.

Scatty casted a glance at the jazz singer. She was disappearing with one of the guitar players, moving out of their range of sight. "At the end of the day, she's no more fulfilled than any of us."

He laughed a short laugh. "That's sad to think."

"Are there any people here that catch your eye?" Scatty asked, changing the subject abruptly.

Machiavelli scanned the room. "I don't typically fall in love on sight. No," he answered, looking back at her. "I'm sure these are good people, most of them at least, but to love them I'd have to get to know them. I don't see that happening."

"Good."

"Good? You don't want me finding love?" he asked lightly, a smile gracing his handsome features.

"I didn't want you giving up because of Billie's bad advice."

The song ended. "I'm a little tired. Want to sit out for a song or two?" He jerked his head at the tall tables by the windows. She nodded. "Whew," he sighed, pulling out a chair for her.

Scatty sighed too. She rubbed her feet. "Why would anyone ever subject themselves to heels?" she asked, her nose wrinkling in disgust.

"It does help with our height difference," Niccolo offered wryly.

"Psh. We still look ridiculously mismatched." He grinned and shrugged. "How much taller than Billy are you?" she asked, curious.

"The Kid? About four inches taller, if I remember correctly. I wasn't at my full height when he left, but I remember being only a little taller than him when we first met…"

"Well, that's not so bad," Scatty muttered.

Machiavelli felt the first tendrils of melancholy seep over him; he hadn't felt any trace of sadness all summer and the sudden onset of this feeling was startling and rather upsetting. Surrounded by people, he felt terribly alone all in one instant. Even the nearby presence of Scatty and Billie didn't seem to be able to undo the churning feeling in his stomach.

He felt a hand on his. Scatty was looking at him. "Mac, you okay?"

He nodded tightly. "I just… just feel kind of funny," he murmured. "I don't know what's happening Scatty, I just feel… sad suddenly? I'm not usually prone to depression…"

"Why don't we get out of here?" she suggested, grabbing his arm.

He shook his head. "You two are having fun. I'm just going to walk back to the house." She looked like she was going to argue, but he kissed her cheek. "Really, I'm fine. I think it's just the atmosphere." He held up his phone. "I think I'll call Billy. Maybe you should have that Billie stay the night at our place? So we know she's safe."

"Okay, but she's coming back to the table now. Why don't you make that suggestion and see how far it gets you?"

Machiavelli glanced up. Billie was coming back to the table, three beers held in her hands. He gave her a swift smile.

She gave him a once over. "Hey, pizzabagel, you look down in the mouth."

His mouth twitched in slight amusement. "Pizzabagel? That's the second time you've called me that."

"It's what we called the people that came around after the Italian neighborhoods starting mixing with the Jews."

"Well, I'm just a little tired, so I'm going to head for home. But I was telling Scatty I'd like it if you stayed with us tonight. I'd feel better."

"I know how to take care of myself, dollface."

"I don't doubt it," Niccolò commented lightly. "Still, I don't like the idea of you wandering through the city alone, at night. Will you stay?"

She softened, only fractionally. "What would I do at your place? It's not mine."

"It would just be for the night."

She thought about it. "I'll stay over," she promised, "but only on one condition. You come to one more place with me."

"Where?"

"A place I know."

"Scatty said it was called Forbidden Fruit? I googled it on my phone and couldn't find any mention of it…"

"That's because it's a hidden club. Moves around. You need a password to get in."

"And you have this password, I suppose?" Scatty asked archly, leaning on Machiavelli slightly as they followed the jazz singer. She winced.

"Of course," Lady Day retorted frostily. Reaching a door painted black, she rapped her knuckles against the wood briskly. A little panel slid open. Through this, the dark immortal conversed. Moments later, the door clicked open.

This place was much more what Machiavelli had assumed the jazz singer would bring them to. The walls were painted black, bright lights flashed across the crowd, and there was a cage in the center of the room which club goers voluntarily climbed into and were generally made a fool of.

He halted where he was, strangely transfixed on a short girl wearing shorts and two bandaids across her nipples, but not much else. She twirled inside the cage, her eyes fixated on a girl sitting not far away. He heard Scatty's impatient cough behind him. "Sorry," he apologized immediately, blushing profusely. "I just- I didn't…"

"It's okay, boo," she said, pulling the stammering man away from the entrance. "She's quite the spectacle.

"No, I wasn't looking at her- not that way- I just… never imagined people would leave their homes with bandages as their main outfit…"

"It certainly makes me feel overdressed," Scatty said sarcastically. She pulled him into the crowd, beginning to dance with the rhythm.

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a glassy eyed man. He leered at Scathach. "Want to dance?" It sounded like a threat.

"Beat it. I'm having a conversation with my friend," she said dismissively.

He glanced at Machiavelli. Seeming to decide that the skinny immortal in three-piece suit was no competition, he moved closer, invading their personal space. "Lose the stiff. My friends and I, we'll show you a good time."

"I'd rather chew glass," she tossed back at him.

His friends, a few feet away, laughed at this. The drunkard in front of them got red in the face though- clearly he was used to getting his way. He grabbed her arm. "You're going to dance with me."

Her fingers closed around his arm. His face twisted in pain and surprise when she twisted the arm, flipping him around. "No, I said I did not want to," she said slowly and deliberately. "You remember me the next time you try to force yourself on someone else." With an almost delicate movement, she twitched her grip. He was thrown backwards, landing on a table which toppled over. He practically flew out the door of the bar, howling a string of swears as he left.

Machiavelli looked at her impassively. "Scatty…"

"What? You disapprove?"

"No… I just think we could have maimed him in a less populated area."

"Guys like that never learn."

Billie appeared suddenly, leaning on their table. "What's going on? Why aren't the two of you dancing?"

"Scatty just threw some jackass's across the room," Niccolo informed her.

Billie looked at the Shadow with something akin to newfound respect. "Did he deserve it?"

"Yes."

"Aw, well, good for you then. You're more alright than I thought you were." She grabbed Niccolo's arm. "Come on sugar lips, we're dancing this song."

"You're doing the same thing to me that the guy just did to Scatty," he protested, following her out on the floor.

"He was sexually objectifying her. Whereas I," she stopped, looking him up and down. "Never mind, pizzabagel, I am doing that to you too. You don't want to know what I'm thinking right now," she told him conversationally.

He didn't doubt it at all. "Yeah, no, I'm good. Are you going to continue to call me pizzabagel?"

"Yes."

He floundered a little, wondering how he'd gotten to this point in the night where casual violence was rewarded with a dance.

The jazz singer grabbed his face, directing it towards hers. "Eyes on me, not on things happening outside of this room." She released him when the song died down, somehow matching him up with a thin blond before the next song had even begun. Again, she disappeared into the crowd.

"Hi!" he called, looking at his companion. From the corner of his eye, he could see Scatty dancing with a younger looking man; the expression on his face seemed to connote that he couldn't believe his luck.

"Hi. Wow, you're tall," she said back. _She seems nice_. "Are you with the red head?" she asked, following his glance.

"She's just a friend. Sorry, I just wanted to make sure she wasn't alone," he apologized.

She smiled. "I think that's sweet," she told him. "So are you single?"

"I am… but I have someone I'd like to be with, to be honest," he admitted, feeling that he should be honest and avoid leading her on. "I'd understand if you wanted to find someone else to dance with."

She surprised him by shaking her head. "My name's Julie. My friends wanted me to come with them here, but most guys are jerks." She grinned and spun around a little, ruffling her dress playfully. "I like the idea of not having to impress you."

"My other friend dragged us here, too."

"Is she the-?"

"Yeah, that's her," Machiavelli agreed, knowing that whatever Billie had done to make herself distinct, it would be what Julie was referring to.

The song slowed and Julie put her arms lightly on his shoulders. "Sorry. But got to make it look good for the friends." They slow danced. "So, who's the lucky girl? Tell me about her."

Niccolo smiled wistfully. "Actually," he said, wondering if he had the nerve to be honest, "you should be asking who the lucky man is."

She blinked, processing, then smiled. "Oh, sorry. I just assumed…"

"It's okay. I didn't think I was gay either until I met him," he confessed, wondering why he was telling this perfect stranger his secrets. _Maybe because I'll never see her again. There's a certain safety in that,_ he decided.

"So, why aren't you with him?" she asked curiously. She rushed to cover her question. "You don't have to answer that."

"It's okay." He smiled at her. "He's just not gay. I didn't think I was either."

"Oh. Sorry," she said, faint frown lines forming on her forehead. He didn't want to see her frown, didn't want to make her sad at all when she was in the prime of her life. "Julie, it's been really nice getting to know you."

"You too. Can I ask you to do something for me? It's going to be weird," she cautioned him, "since we just met. Can you give me a kiss? Just on the cheek? I think it would get my friends off my back for the rest of the night."

He couldn't help but grin. "I can do that," he agreed. Leaning down, he kissed her gently and drew back.

She stepped back, giving him a little smile. "Going to see where your friend is?" she asked, giving him an out. He nodded and with a little flick of a wave, she melted into the crowd, joining a group of girls who bunched around her.

"Did you make a friend? Fall in love?" Billie asked him, when he joined her and Scatty.

"A friend? Maybe. Fall in love? No." He laughed. Seeing the questioning glance on Scatty's face, he explained himself. "Her friends were pressuring her to come tonight and she felt that if she left with an intriguing story, they'd leave her alone."

"And you were happy to be the subject of this story."

He grinned. "I've been a fifty year old man for four hundred years. It's kind of nice to be considered attractive."

"Well, I guess you should use it while it- hey kid," she said, interrupting herself suddenly, "isn't that our friendly neighborhood stalker?"

Machiavelli ducked, chancing a quick look where the Shadow was looking and saw that it was indeed their neighbor. She hadn't noticed him yet, but they weren't that far off and he could only imagine it wouldn't be long. "Merda! Ah," he groaned, looking around. "Maybe she won't see us. Where's Julie's group?"

"They just left, but I think she's seen us. Why do you-" Scatty began to ask, confused. He cut her off, kissing her suddenly, unexpectedly, and much more passionately than he'd kissed the lithe blonde. Her eyes flew open in surprise, particularly with how much he used his body to dominate her.

He lifted her up, setting her on the chair where she was far more level with him. One hand, he kept on her thigh, the other holding her face.

Breaking away, he glanced at the reflection of the room in the window behind Scatty. He was relieved to see that wherever she had been, Missy was gone for now. "Sorry," he apologized, realizing that he probably could have handled the situation in another way. He ran a hand through his hair nervously. "Sorry, I panicked and…" He shrugged.

"Well," the Shadow said slowly. "I guess this is why I came down. Reason was to help you." She actually seemed flustered. "Did I help?"

"Yes, thank you. Someday I'm going to make this all up to you."

"Is he a good kisser?" Billie asked Scatty interestedly.

The warrior was touching her lips. "He is."

Machiavelli felt that the tone of surprise was hardly necessary, but didn't want to engage too deeply in this conversation. "I think that this time, I am going to head back home."

"Okay," Billie sighed as if he'd mortally wounded her. "But you have to admit, you had a lot of fun tonight."

"There were certain enjoyable parts," Machiavelli conceded. "The two of you are going to stay here?"

Billie looked at Scatty, actually looking rather pleading. The Shadow sighed, but nodded. "But only for an hour more. Then we go home. It's nearly two o'clock."

"And are you sure you're both going to be alright walking back on your own?" Machiavelli asked anxiously.

"Of course, I'm more powerful than you are," Scatty answered, somewhat impatiently. "Go ahead home, Niccolo. We'll be there soon."

Now that it was time to go, Machiavelli didn't want to leave them. He wanted them to come with him instead. "I could stay."

"Go," they both said.

He sighed, feeling that he'd lost the battle. "Okay, see you in a little while." He made his way out of the bar. Looking up at the street signs, he figured that he had to go over one road, and up five to make his way back home. He picked his way through the streets, one hand tucked carefully in his pocket. There wasn't a lot of traffic at this time of the night.

He was rather surprised at how uneventful the walk back was. Perhaps to test his luck, he cut through the park to make his way home. A few unfortunate homeless gazed back at him in the darkness, but he felt a rush of compassion, not fear, fill him. The night was very cold; he wondered what they would do when it got even colder.

Crossing the street, he made his way up the stairs to his brownstone, hoping fervently that Scatty had remembered her own key. He felt a little better already, being inside their home. _Less people, less noise,_ he thought idly. Loosening his tie, he made his way up the stairs.

 _I wonder if Billy is still up_? _And why he hasn't called?_ These questions he thought before slumping over in bed, feeling all the different emotions wash over him. It had been exhausting, exercising emotions he hadn't felt in years, all in one night. Reaching over, he snagged his phone and typed out a short message before falling asleep. 'Billy?' he'd typed and sent to the American immortal, hoping to hear back from his friend.


	31. Chapter 31

AN: Thank you to everyone who has left reviews or private messages. I wanted to let you know that I would never abandon the story; in fact, I have some future chapters already written out and am working on connecting what's going on now in the story to what I want to happen in the future.

* * *

The next day it poured. "Seems like it's raining a lot," Machiavelli commented over their chess game, late that afternoon.

"After all the droughts we've had the past few years in San Francisco, this isn't such a bad thing," Scatty replied. She took his queen and cursed when he mated her. "You sacrificed your queen," she accused him.

"Yes," he said simply, with a wane grin. "So, tell me about how the rest of your night went after I left the two of you."

Scatty paused, rearranging the pieces back into their original positions. "I guess Billie's not as bad as she was in the past." The look on her face spoke volumes, contradicting the words she'd just spoken.

"You big softy," he teased her lightly.

"I still don't like her," she said immediately. She bristled at his little grin. "I don't. But we found one thing that we agreed on last night."

He brightened. _If they get along, life will be much easier._ He was determined that they wouldn't leave the jazz singer on her own, despite her caustic nature. She was too much like Zelda, who had in turn, reminded him of parts of himself he'd rather distance himself from. "What did you agree on?"

"We both think that you and Billy would make a good couple."

He dropped his chess pieces and only a quick levitation charm saved them from smashing on the ground. "What? Really? I told both of you I've given up."

"And we don't think you should," Scatty said with unusual earnestness.

Machiavelli didn't know what to say, so he redirected her. "But what happened last night?" he pressed. "I was waiting up for you, but you didn't come back, at least not before I fell asleep."

"Oh, well… We ended up going to a gay bar," she admitted, grinning a little. He gave her a disbelieving look and she made a small noise off her teeth before explaining. "Well, there's no rule against going to a gay bar if you're not gay, and as a woman, you don't have to worry that you're going to get hit on at all. So we figured it'd be a nice place to go and just have fun."

"I mean, I guess. Do lots of women go to gay bars? I just assumed…"

"There was a fair number. The guys will still dance with you and they're probably dressed better than the average Joe…" She shrugged. "The place we were at before that, the one you were at, there was a lot of lowlifes around. It was a nice change to go from one place where guys expected everything of you, to one where they didn't want anything from you."

"So, you just danced there?"

"We danced and we people watched. It was a lot more fun than I thought it would be. There was this very macho guy that did a striptease around two in the morning," she said excitedly. "He left with some point dexter, never would have predicted that in a million years." She paused. "I did shots out of one guy's navel though. Turns out he goes both ways."

Machiavelli felt a little twist in his stomach. He didn't want Scatty outstripping him; he liked that they were similarly situated. "And then what happened?"

Scatty sighed. "Then I told her I was getting tired and I thought we were going to go home, but…"

"What?"

"She wanted to buy some pot. So we did."

Machiavelli opened his mouth and gestured with one hand, disbelief slowing him down to an almost comedic level. "You guys smoked pot in Billy's bedroom?"

"No, I wouldn't let her," Scatty said neutrally. She began packing away the pieces to the chessboard, fitting them into their velvet lined slots. "She smoked in the park. I sat with her, but it's not really my thing."

Machiavelli thought back to this morning at breakfast. "That's why we're missing so much food," he said slowly. He squinted at her. "Billie ate all that herself?"

"I might have had a bit of a contact high last night," Scatty said defensively.

"Billy did marijuana during the sixties," Machiavelli told her.

"That doesn't surprise me."

"I've never done recreational drugs though," he continued.

"I'm not surprised by that either."

"So, then you went home, right?" He watched her intently. He groaned when she shook her head. "Where? Where could you possibly go?" he asked, throwing his hands up in the air. "Doesn't this city ever go to sleep? What's open at that hour?"

"First we stopped at that diner you told me about, then the ice cream parlor we went on our first night. You remember the one? I got you a pint of chocolate chip and a tin of sprinkles," she told him.

He was only slightly mollified. Glancing at his phone, he replaced it in his pocket again. "Well, that is nice. So then what? Swim in the river a little?"

"No," she laughed. "Then we came home. I was hoping you'd be awake… but it was like five in the morning by that point. We played rummy until the sun came up. That's when we were talking about you and the Kid."

"And then? Where'd Billie go?"

"Well, she said she'd only agreed to stay until tomorrow, which is today, so then she went home. And I was actually tired by that point, which is kind of strange for me, so…"

"You climbed in with me," he finished for her, remember how confused he was when he'd woken up that morning. "I thought I had fallen asleep in your bed again for a minute."

"No, I got in with you," she clarified. "This way, you'll be able to make Billy jealous like you planned."

"I never planned on making him jealous by pretending to be your boyfriend," he protested. He laughed a little. "Billy's the one who pointed out that you were my fake girlfriend. Why would I tell him what I was trying to do if I was doing it to him?"

"It's a really cunning move," she pointed out. "I'm just saying, you had me come over here to make that girl jealous, old what's her name, but we ran into her last night and you just avoided her."

"I kissed you!"

She shrugged. "You could have done a lot more to make your point." He felt very non-plussed. _How much of what she's saying is true?_ he wondered.

"So, what did you do last night after you left?" she asked him.

He shrugged himself now. "Not much. I came back here. Tried to text Billy, but he never got back to me."

"Is that why you've been checking your phone all day?" she asked curiously.

"I haven't been checking it all day," he said, putting his hands up before him. "So, you climbed in bed with me. What did you do? Did you actually sleep?"

"No."

"Then what?" he asked, somewhat nervously.

She hesitated. "Nothing."

"Scatty…"

She caved. "I was texting Billy," she admitted reluctantly.

He felt like he'd been hit in the stomach. _What did I do wrong that Billy isn't texting me? Our last conversation was nice. What happened?_ he wondered. "Oh," he said, feeling a little dizzy. "What did you talk about?" he asked nonchalantly.

She saw through his nonchalance, he knew she had. Giving him a pitying look, she downplayed it. "He just couldn't sleep and I was awake, so…"

"Yeah, that's fine. That's fine. So, did he say when he was coming back?"

"Tomorrow," she said softly. "He's going to try to come back tomorrow."

He tilted his head. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked softly, feeling strangely betrayed.

"I just forgot boo," she told him earnestly. "Really, it was early this morning and he fell asleep and I did too, kind of. You're very warm. Like a heating blanket."

He nodded distractedly. "So, Billy's coming back tomorrow?" He felt a dizzying shock.

"He said he was going to try."

"Okay." Despite his hurt feelings, Machiavelli felt a thrill of joy. He had missed the outlaw overwhelmingly. "So you did fall asleep. But you were awake when I woke up."

"I was just catnapping." She touched his arm. "I don't think it means anything, that he was texting me and not you. I just caught him at a time when he was available. You understand that, right?:

Machiavelli smiled, but didn't answer. Outside, it was getting dark. They'd spent the day inside, two friends comfortably together. "It's getting cold in here," he said lightly. Kneeling in front of the fireplace, he put one of the logs into the grate before lighting it with his aura. He shook his hand slightly, myriad sparks falling off onto the rug. "That'll be better in a minute."

"Oh, here take this. I found something when I was looking for my book this afternoon," Scatty said, getting up. She came to stand next to him. Machiavelli looked up curiously, accepting a letter from the Shadow.

"What's this?" he asked, slitting it open.

"Letter from Nicholas. Been meaning to give it to you since I got here."

"Oh, okay." Machiavelli scanned it quickly, then folded it up and put it in his pocket. "I'll have to think about it."

"Think about what?" she asked, but he just shook his head, gazing at the fire lit in the grate.

"Scatty, what did you talk about with him?" he asked desperately. "Cause you really didn't say before."

She sighed. "I can't tell you. I promised I'd keep it to myself. I do that with you too; I haven't told Billy anything you confessed to me. I wish I could…"

"It's okay, I understand. I'm just worried that he's mad at me for some reason, but I can imagine what I did to make him upset…"

"He's not mad at you," Scatty said instantly. "Trust me, he's not." Machiavelli relaxed. Sometimes he worried that he was going to lose his newfound friends; he'd been alone for so long without close companions, he worried that through some fault of his own, he'd turn them away from himself. Scatty was speaking to him. "Wait for him to come back and get him to talk to you. Things will be fine."

"Sure." He shoved his hands in his pockets, walking around. "Are you hungry?" he asked abruptly.

She nodded without much prompting. "We haven't really eaten at all today. Mostly nibbled."

He pulled her to her feet. "Come to the kitchen with me. I don't know what we have for food."

She ran a hand down the side of his face. "You're awfully handsome, Mac," she told him. "You know that don't you?" He shook his head and protested, but she nodded firmly. "You are, and you're a good guy too- who would have thought it?"

He grinned despite himself. "I'm very fond of you, Scatty."

"You still look troubled."

"I just don't understand…" He made a noise of frustration, looking at his phone again. "But he's been texting you?"

She shook her head. "Only this morning," she said, following him to the kitchen. "I haven't heard from him since."

He tapped his lips. "What if you texted him now?"

She shook her head. "Don't do that."

"Okay, this time I'll really drop it," he said surrendering. Opening the fridge, he cast a critical eye over the contents of the space. "I could make eggplant lasagna," he suggested dubiously. "We really have to go grocery shopping sometime."

"Is there any way we can half the recipe?" she asked, also snooping through their fridge. "That's a lot of food for the two of us."

"I can do that," Niccolo agreed. He pulled the vegetable out of the fridge and set to work. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Scatty pull out her phone and begin typing. He wanted to ask her what was going on, but knowing that he'd already said he would stay out of it, he closed his mouth.

Outside, he could hear the gentler murmur of the rain on the ground. _At least tomorrow you'll get to see Billy,_ he thought, though his excitement was somewhat mired by his misgivings.

Behind him, Scatty slipped her phone back in her pocket and coming to stand behind him, wrapped her arms around his waist in an atypical display of affection. He sighed.


	32. Chapter 32

AN: I have this ready early, so there's no reason not to share it now. Excited to finally be getting to the part I wrote a long time ago!

* * *

Early the next morning, Machiavelli set himself up at the window seat in the front window. He brought with him Billy's T.S. Eliot book, but couldn't focus on it, glancing up every few minutes as though he could force the American immortal back sooner by sheer force of will.

He knew that he was making Scatty nervous with his restlessness, but couldn't bring himself to leave the apartment. He had the paranoid feeling that the minute they left the house, the American immortal would arrive and he refused to leave it to chance that Billy might come back to an empty house. "How is he getting back? By plane? Does he need a ride?"

Scatty put up her hand, warding off his string of questions. "He didn't say. I asked if he needed a ride, but he said no, that they had a way."

"He didn't give you a hint? Or more specifics on when he might be coming back?"

"We didn't talk that much about it," she told him gently. "Really we didn't. He asked about you though."

Machiavelli brightened slightly; he couldn't help it. "Did he really?" he asked, hoping that Scathach wasn't just trying to cheer him up.

She nodded. "He wanted to know if you've been eating and he made me tell him what you've had recently for food. What's the story behind that?" she asked, confusion forming creases between her eyes.

That made Machiavelli laugh. "We just disagreed on one of our last conversations about dinner. That's why he's doing that. He thinks I don't eat."

"Why would he think that?" She asked, glad to have gotten him talking. She sat beside him, crisscrossing her legs beneath her.

"One of the times we called, he mentioned having dinner and I said I hadn't had mine yet. And because of the time difference, he thought I wasn't planning on eating," Machiavelli explained. "But that wasn't it. It's just that Americans tend to eat earlier than Europeans, just from what I've seen."

"We eat at like, seven, you and I."

He nodded, straining when he saw a flash of red coming down the street, even as he knew that the Thunderbird was parked in the garage. At any rate, it was a normal, ordinary car. "Seven's okay, though I'd normally eat at like eight or even later when I was mortal. But Billy conditioned me over the summer to expect dinner at five or six, so I'm all mixed up now." Realizing that he still had the book of poetry in his hands, he set it aside.

They lapsed into silence. "Scatty? I just don't understand why he's stopped calling me. He missed the last two phone calls, but before that we were having fun talking, at least I thought we were."

"You should ask him about it when he gets here," she told him. "Just not around Black Hawk or any of the other guys that might come back with him."

He looked at her. "Do you know why?"

"Yes," she revealed reluctantly. "But I really think you should talk with him about it. And I would explain to him that it hurt you, cause he doesn't mean to and I don't think he thought about how it would."

Machiavelli didn't know what to say. "Huh," he said, to make some sort of indication that he'd heard her, even if he didn't quite understand.

Scatty shuffled her feet nervously. "I'm going to go for a walk. Come with me."

He considered, briefly. "I'm okay, thanks. Take your time though. There's no reason for both of us to be stuck here, waiting."

"Come with me," she pleaded. "He said he might not be able to make it back here today, just that he 'might be coming home tomorrow'. We could leave a note and we'd be back. I think you'd feel better…"

"I'm okay, really I am," he assured the Shadow. "I'm uh, going to get a different book. He kissed her cheek and slid down from his place at the window. See you in a while."

After that, she had no choice but to leave for her walk, though he had the feeling that she'd only been going out to try to get him to come with her. He felt bad, but was resolved to stay.

Still, without Scatty the whole house was deafeningly silent.

The minutes dragged by.

With the passing time, Machiavelli's fears grew. He didn't know exactly where Billy was, but he could imagine that Billy had somehow gotten hurt or killed in between calling him and trying to get back to the city. His self-doubts came into play, suggesting to him that perhaps Billy had simply left Machiavelli and had gone somewhere else. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, trying to regulate his breathing into a more meditative state.

 _Billy's fine_ , he told himself repeatedly. _He's just a little late. Scatty said he might not even come today, you have to be prepared for that. Breathe in_.

By noon, he couldn't take it anymore, so he got up and wandered through the brownstone. He paced through the rooms, needlessly straightening what didn't need to be straightened and looking out all of the windows that faced the street. When he got to the top of the house, he lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. He could feel the disappointment wash over him. _Where was Billy_?

There was a sound below him and he sat up with a snap. There was the sound of a car pulling in to one of the homes around theirs. _It could be Scatty,_ he thought, attempting to protect himself against further disappointment. _It's probably Scatty._ Seconds later, though, he heard the sound of a key scraping the front lock.

He couldn't help it. He slipped off the bed and padded to the top of the stairs, looking down to the door. Never had he been so disappointed to see the red-headed immortal, though he hid it well, pasting a small smile on his face as he came down to see her.

"I brought us lunch," she said, holding up a bag.

"What did you get?" he asked, following her into the dining room at the back of the house.

"Gyros," she answered, pulling them out of the bag. "There's a cart selling them in the park today."

"Gyro's have meat in them," he told her, wondering what she was going to eat.

"There's a vegetarian version. And I also got you something for dessert cause I know you have kind of a sweet tooth. I don't know how to pronounce the name though- they're fried dough balls with honey and cinnamon?"

"Sounds like loukoumades," he said idly.

"That sounds like what the vendor told me," she agreed. "Do you like gyros? I know you're Italian and these are Greek, but I thought…"

"I do," he assured her. "Both are based on a Mediterranean diet. I never learned Greek as a child," he continued, "but I wanted to. It would have rounded out my classical education. Still, I can't complain. For a family within our means, I received a very good education."

"Was your family poor?"

"We weren't poor, per se, but we certainly weren't as rich as perhaps we should have been," he said, thinking about it as he unwrapped his sandwich. "I was just reading an article, I believe in the New York Times- or perhaps the New Yorker?- about how in Florence, the same families have remained the wealthiest of all since the 15th century. I think I know which families they were talking about too, but the article didn't give specifics…"

To fill the time, he and Scatty played an extended version of twenty questions. He beat her only because he'd picked as his mystery object, Zelda Fitzgerald, which he hadn't expected she'd guess. Switching gears, she pressed him with personal questions through the afternoon, asking him over and over about his family, his wife, his childhood, his experiences, and his theories.

By the time evening arrived, his voice was almost worn out from talking, but there was still no sign of his American immortal.

Machiavelli thought he'd managed to keep himself pretty well occupied over the past week or so, but this last day had seemed rather endless to him. He'd hoped that the American immortal would come back before the day ended, but as night crept forward, he had to admit that it was becoming increasingly unlikely.

Knowing how the Shadow hated being confined indoors, he suggested that she take the car to a store and that he would be fine alone. He was surprised, but secretly grateful, when she ignored his suggestion and stayed with him. "You're just staying with me because it's getting colder," he teased.

"I'm impervious to temperatures," she shot back, skulking around Billy's DVD collection. "Also to Billy's DVD collection. He has way too many westerns."

"It is surprising that he'd want to watch all these shows, having seen it play out in his own life," Machiavelli agreed, happy to talk about his favorite immortal. "Especially since they're usually wholly inaccurate." He paused. "On the other hand, I think that might be what amuses him so much. Once, over the summer, I came across him watching Bonanza or Gunsmoke or something. He and Black Hawk seemed endless entertained by the portrayal of Native Americans."

"I would have thought Black Hawk would be offended by their portrayal," Scatty said, pulling out another DVD idly and replacing it again.

Machiavelli nodded, but shrugged. "I think it was so bad, it was funny. The 'Native American' was a white woman with blue eyeshadow on. I guess you can't take these things too seriously. I don't find the portrayal of most Italians to be very accurate either."

"Ah yes, the gangster slash mama's boy stereotype. I see a little of that in you," Scatty said mischievously, laughing at his response. "Only kidding." She gave up on the movies and plopped down next to Machiavelli on the couch. He took her utter lack of gracefulness as her being completely comfortable around him. "What's the matter kid? Haven't I been company enough for you?"

Machiavelli had been looking towards the front of the house, ears pricked for the sounds of the garage opening, a key in the front door, anything. He started at her question. "Sorry, no. I mean yes. I just miss him," he said, trying to apologize. She tapped him on the nose and he knew that she wasn't really upset, that she'd been kidding but he felt a strong desire to explain nonetheless. "I guess I'm just used to him always being around. We haven't really been separated since we met back in July."

Scatty nodded, surprising him by leaning heavily on his side. He took a chance and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She didn't fight it, so he left it there. "That's probably why Billy called me," she speculated. "I don't think he likes to leave you alone. He's a good guy."

"He trusts you," Machiavelli pointed out.

Scathach didn't deny it. "I make a lasting impression," she agreed and he laughed. Her bravado reminded him of Billy; both immortals were immensely self-assured, an enviable trait for a person who sometimes wondered if his whole life was based on a mistake made long ago. "Billy must have told you about our adventure." Machiavelli shook his head, no. Rare surprise briefly surfaced on her features. "Oh, well, I hadn't told him not to tell anyone about what happened, but he must have decided to keep it to himself anyways." Seeming to need something to do, she described their adventure to the Italian, who was her rapt audience.

Machiavelli was rather horrified by the whole description of their adventure, the danger they'd been in seemingly made worse by the Kid's current absence. Despite the grave nature of Scatty's story telling, he had a feeling that this American immortal enjoyed the attention just as much as his other American friend would have. She left out no chilling detail, most of her descriptions graphic and prolonged.

"So," she concluded, poking him painfully between the ribs. "I gave you all the details of my innermost troubles. Now you know how Billy and I came to meet."

"After that," he said slowly, picturing it in his mind, "you came with him to this house."

"But then I had my disagreement with Billie Holiday and we split again. I went back to California, and he continued to roam the country."

"Hmm," he said, shifting so that she could lean against his chest. Idly, he stroked her hair. She lay her head against his torso; Machiavelli was sure she could hear his heart thump in his chest. They were quiet, both immortals relatively talked out for the time being.

~MB~

The two immortals waited for Billy all that night, but he didn't show. Scatty opened her mouth to say something several times but shut it again. She watched the Italian immortal pace instead. Around four in the morning, he fell asleep in the armchair that Billy normally sat in. When he woke up again, he'd been covered by the old comforter from the back of the couch. The Shadow was stretched on out the couch, one arm dangling toward the floor. Getting up, he tucked her arm in under the covers again, glanced at the street, and fell heavily back into the chair.


	33. Chapter 33

AN: Gentle reminder that I write emotional/intellectual fluff cause that's the kind of fiction I wanted to read and found lacking for my pairing. If you're looking for a lot of action and excitement, this fic probably isn't the one for you, as I don't have the energy nor the inclination to change my writing style. On the other hand, I'd be happy to help anyone else write a story of their own! Thanks!

* * *

The only good thing about their wretched night waiting for the American immortal was that when Machiavelli finally fell asleep, he slept for the majority of the morning. He woke up again close to noon, finding a note on the coffee table and the couch empty.

Getting up, he whimpered with pain, limping over to the table to snatch up the note. Scatty had gone out 'for supplies,' whatever that meant. Folding and pocketing the note, he slipped it into his pocket. He rotated his head, hissing slightly when he reached a block. With a sigh, he wrapped his arms around his middle and let aura spill out around him, clearing away the stiffness and exhaustion.

That just left his appearance. Shuddering at the glance he got from the hall mirror, he headed upstairs, deciding to shower in the bathroom off of Billy's, now Scatty's, room instead of the veritable coffin like shower on his floor.

Stripping off his suit and putting it among the laundry, he dug under the sink for the can of shaving cream he knew was there and lathered up his face. Softly he began to hum under his breath, scraping away the traces of the late night he'd had the day before. Satisfied he'd gotten it all, he turned on the water in the shower and stepped in.

He lost track of time under the water, meaning to hurry through his ablutions, but getting distracted with thoughts of upcoming meal recipes and the Jugendstil art movement in Germany. He rotated his neck, feeling one last little pop where he'd been out of whack.

Finally turning off the water when it got cold, he pushed the curtain back and got out carefully. He snagged a towel from the rail under the window and dried off his underarms, then bent to work on his legs. Dimly, he heard a sound at the top of the stairs, but before he could process it-

"Mac, are you in here? Oh-"

"Scatty!" He jumped a little at suddenly finding her in the doorway, and straightening, held his towel in front of him in a vain attempt to shield himself. She turned around, sitting where he could see her on the bed, but facing the opposite wall.

Hurriedly, he climbed into the boxers he'd laid out on the hamper. "I didn't think you would be back so soon!" he called. He roughly rubbed the towel over his upper torso, drying himself as quickly as he could.

"Oh, yeah, well I've been out for a couple of hours, actually. Did you just wake up?"

He threw a white undershirt on and came to sit next to her. He glanced at the clock that was on what had been his nightstand. "I guess about a half an hour ago. Sorry. Sorry about," he gestured behind himself, stammering a little. "Sorry you saw so much."

She had to laugh a little. "Sorry I pushed into the room. I didn't think you were showering… the water wasn't running."

"I had just shut it off," he said, rising. He looked around, wanting to get dressed.

Perhaps sensing that, she got up too, following him down the stairs. He wasn't quite sure what to do when she made herself at home on his bed, but she solved that problem for him. Lying back against the pillow shams, she arched her eyebrow at him. "What, I can see you naked, but I can't watch you get the rest of the way dressed?"

"Did you really see me naked?" he asked desperately, pulling out a suit and laying it at the foot of his bed. The Italian immortal quickly did up his socks and garters before stepping into the suit pants.

"No," she told him, but he wasn't quite sure he believed her, just based on the small grin on her face. He opened his shirt drawer, taking out the iris shirt she'd convinced him to buy and slipped it on over his shoulders. "So what are these mysterious supplies that you have acquired?"

She watched him buttoning his shirt. "Well," she said at last, I figured that you were probably not going to want to leave the house again until Billy gets here… and we still don't know when that will be… So I got some stuff for us to do around the house. I got popcorn and I figure we can watch a movie this afternoon, and then stuff for brownies." She shrugged. "I know you liked doing that with Billy. I'm not him, of course, but I figured…"

"Billy would be over the moon if he came home and the house smelled like brownies," Niccolò laughed.

She grinned. "That's what I figured." She let him pull her to her feet. "You seem like you're in a better mood today."

"I've resigned myself to my fate," he said quietly. "I have no control over when he gets here."

"Well, that's a little fatalistic, but probably for the best," she said softly, touching down on the floor again.

~MB~

By the second evening of their waiting, Machiavelli was starting to get anxious. "Where is he?" he asked the Shadow desperately.

She shrugged, not knowing any more than he did. "I'm sure he's alright, Niccolò."

Machiavelli slid out of the armchair to pace again. He looked at the chair, remembering Billy perched there, with his knees up, his dirty socks half scrunched down on his feet; odd details lingered around the corners of the room. "I'm going to call him again," he said resolutely. But the connection never went through, the line endlessly ringing, before he hung up in frustration.

Finally, as it was getting dark, Machiavelli got a phone call. Snatching up his phone, he saw a number he didn't recognize, but answered anyways. "Hello?"

"Hey!" It was Billy's voice, and he half slumped with relief. Putting it on speakerphone, they both frowned slightly; they could barely hear him over a din of noise in the background.

"Where are you?" Scatty shouted over the background noise. Billy said something unintelligible back. "What?" they both exclaimed, the combined frustration of the past few days finally getting to them. "At a rodeo- Black Hawk- phone dead-back-" And the line clicked out.

"They stopped at a rodeo?" Machiavelli said disbelievingly. Scatty started to say something, but he cut her off, feeling suddenly and immeasurably angry. "We've been worrying about him for two days now and they went to a rodeo?" he seethed.

"It sounds like it was Black Hawk's idea." But Scatty sounded doubtful- they really hadn't heard enough of the conversation to make a good guess what was going on.

The Italian immortal was quick to point that fact out. "Oh, come on, we couldn't hear anything with that call. He could have been saying Black Hawk won a wet t-shirt contest, for all we'd know." Machiavelli pushed to his feet.

"Where are you going?"

Machiavelli paused. He didn't really know. He could just feel anger coursing through him. "Out. I've got to get fresh air."

"Want company?" He thought about it, then shook his head. "Okay. I'll wait here for Billy. Call you if he gets back before you do."

"You do that." He realized how awful he sounded and softened his tone. "Please."

"Call me if you need me." He nodded and waved as he went down the steps.

Outside, he took a deep breath of cool air. He turned right down the road. _Why am I so angry?_ He couldn't figure it out, but as he stalked down the road, the thought of Billy's photo album popped, unbidden, into his head and he groaned. _Because I don't matter to him the way I want to. And now he can't even make it back when he promised he would._

Stalking down the road, he paused outside of a bar, thought about it, and went in. One drink, he thought to himself, but in truth his anger and the feeling that Billy was out there doing god only knows what, spurned him to drink half a dozen rounds in the span of an hour.

And that's how he ended up back at the brownstone with a redhead from the bar. "Billy back yet?" he asked Scatty tipsily.

"No," Scatty said, dislike etched on her face as she looked at the ginger clinging to his arm. "What are you doing?"

"Isn't that obvious?" he slurred, pushing the woman he'd brought home towards the stairs. "I'm going to upstairs if you need me, but please don't need me." He grinned at her.

Scatty caught his arm in a vice grip, pulling him back as he attempted to follow his "date" upstairs. "You're drunk," she said in wonder and disgust. "What are you doing?" she repeated again.

"The bedroom's one floor up on the right," he told his consort, ignoring her question. Both he and the Shadow watched her zigzag up the stairs. "What's wrong Scatty?"

She punched his arm. "What's wrong?" she hissed. "You're in love with Billy. Not that, that moron," she jabbed her finger towards Machiavelli's bedroom, not bothering to keep her voice low.

Machiavelli, in turn, didn't bother contradicting her either. "Billy's probably shacked up with some rodeo puttana of his own, making a new entry in his photo album. Why shouldn't I have fun?"

She released his arm. "Is that what's wrong? His past relationship with women?"

"No, it's his current relationship with women that makes me feel like a fool," Niccolò retorted, surprised at how much force there was behind his words. He stepped away from her, wanting to take control of the situation again, but not knowing what to do. "I'll be upstairs. Billy's not coming back tonight anyways."

She didn't say anything to him as he left her, but he felt her eyes boring into his back all the way up.

Truthfully, he felt a little guilty by the time he got upstairs. He wished Scatty hadn't been there to say anything. Still, he managed to push away the Shadow's reaction when he entered his room to find that the girl ( _Jenny? Is that her name?)_ had pulled off her top and was waiting for him on his bed. He shut the door behind him.

"I like to be told what to do," she whispered in his ear.

Machiavelli thought about the album again and felt the blood rush in his ears. "Good. I've got a lot of ideas." He fiddled with the strap on her bra. "Take this off, for one thing."

She did, letting the garment slip down and off. He cupped her breast, thumbing her nipple until he felt it harden. "Get on your knees," he commanded. Niccolò opened his zipper and pulled himself out. "But I don't have to tell you what to do, do I?"

She smiled, leaning forward to capture him between her lips. He felt his need grow. Tangling a hand in her hair, he pulled her close, then let her go. He pulled her to her feet again. "Kiss me," he said roughly.

She tasted like cheap whiskey and bubblegum and he cursed internally, disliking the taste right away. He fumbled with her skirt, looking for a zipper or clasp to undo. Groaning in frustration, he ended up pulling the skirt up instead, essentially flipping it inside out. With one fluid movement, he turned her around and bent her over the bed. He pulled back on her hips and pushed her legs farther apart with his knee so that she lay in front of him, her ass raised and spread to leave little to the imagination.

"Like this?" he asked her. She moaned and nodded into the mattress as he slipped a finger under her lacy undergarments. Her whole body shook as he found her clitoris. And then-

Knocking. And Billy's voice. "Hey, Mac, I-" The door was pushed open. Machiavelli had a brief glance of Billy standing with his hand on the knob, Scatty halfway up the stairs, before the scene seemed to register with the American immortal. "Sorry," he said, pulling the door shut again with a smart snap.

Machiavelli could hear the other two immortals speaking in low tones. He was frozen, rooted to the spot. "Billy," he mumbled, his mind sluggish from shock and alcohol. He withdrew his hand from where it was it was resting. "You should… You should probably go," he said faintly. "Sorry, I just- I'll call you a cab."

"What?" she asked in surprise, but he was already pulling his pants up. "Oh, come on," she grumbled, tugging her skirt down. He handed her bra which she snatched from him.

"Sorry." Machiavelli apologized again. Inwardly, he reflected that this was not a situation he'd anticipated being in. A year ago, this would have never happened.

After he'd gotten her in the cab and given the driver the address on her license, he reluctantly climbed the front steps and entered the living room, where he could hear the other two talking. He came through the entranceway and leaned against the door, his back pressed against the wall jutting out. He was glad there was only the one light on. "Hey," he said softly.

Billy got up. "Hey, Mac," he greeted the Italian. He ran a hand through his hair. "Sorry about that. Scatty tried to warn me. I thought she was kidding me. I just thought you were sleeping…" He grinned nervously and blushed. "Guess you weren't."

"Yeah, sorry you saw that," Machiavelli mumbled. "We've been waiting for you."

"And, what, you got tired of waiting?" Billy joked.

The tactician winced. He stumbled over his words awkwardly, feeling like there was cotton in his mouth. "No. I really have missed you. I just…" He looked to Scatty, unsure if she'd be willing to help him or if she was angry with him.

"You just had a lot to drink cause you were worried," she said softly. "But Billy spent the night talking to an old man," she told him and he knew she wasn't mad.

"At the rodeo?" he asked timidly, afraid now that he'd irreparably damaged his friendship with the American immortal. Billy shook his head. "Where, then?"

"I took a bus up from Nashville," Billy explained. "The old guy was in the seat next to me." He stretched his legs experimentally. "The seats were very uncomfortable after awhile, but I like that man. Great guy!" he said enthusiastically. "We talked about cars mostly. He has a Shelby Cobra Roadster."

"Why'd you change your mind about being at the rodeo?" Niccolò asked. "That seems like the kind of place you'd enjoy being in."

"Normally, I would. But I never wanted to be there in the first place!" Billy scowled. "The guys wanted to stop at one bar last night, and I wanted to keep going, but… I thought we'd just be there for the one night and then I'd run back and be here by morning… But then they stopped at another place. I couldn't explain why I was running to be back here, but…" Billy blinked at him, eyes wide. "I couldn't stand to be away any longer. I ended up leaving Black Hawk there. I don't care what they say about me."

For the first time, Machiavelli noticed the absence of the Native American immortal. He gave the American immortal a questioning look. Billy hastened to explain. "Oh. He'll make his way over here in a day or so. He was the one that wanted to go to the rodeo when he saw it. I just really wanted to get back to you."

"I really missed you," the warlock repeated. He felt the remaining tension in the room dissipate.

"Good. Give your old man a hug?" Billy joked, holding out one arm. "So you picked up a lady, Mac?" He grimaced.

"Billy? What's wrong with your other arm?" Machiavelli asked, dodging the question. The outlaw's right arm was hanging loosely and he realized that since Billy'd arrived, he hadn't seen the man move it once, not even slightly.

Billy looked down at his hand. He wiggled the fingers and hummed with pain, which he quickly tried to conceal. "Oh, that. Umm…."

"You're hurt."

"A little. Say, Mac, do you know you smell like grapefruit now?"

Scatty sighed, causing them both to look at her. "Do you two ever have a normal conversation? Without one of you changing the topic?"

"Good point. Let's talk about your arm," Machiavelli said firmly. "What happened to you? You didn't mention that when we talked on the phone last?"

"It wasn't broken then. And I probably wouldn't have told you anyways, to be honest, on account of me not wanting to worry you," Billy said, sitting gingerly in his armchair. He motioned towards the coach. "Cause then you might have come rushing out to where we were- you're so smart, I knew you'd find us too- and then you'd blow your cover. We, uh, weren't completely successful in killing Quetzalcoatl. But you didn't want me to kill him anyways." Scatty shot him a look. She'd refused to sit down, even after both the male immortals had sat. Machiavelli rearranged his face in what he hoped was an innocent expression.

"I just think he should have the possibility of revoking his immortality when he wants to," Machiavelli explained. Feeling a little more confident than he had before, he snapped impatiently at Billy. "Continue."

"We did manage to collapse his Shadow realm though- that big grassy place he loved so much? Yeah, it's completely gone. All of his knickknacks too. He wasn't too happy about that. Escaped through a ley gate though."

"And your arm? What about that?"

"Well, once we collapsed his shadow realm, we all really had to run like hell. Kulkulan tried to tie me to the realm so that I couldn't escape, used some of his aura to bind me to that ugly sword he had, you remember that Mac? And he rammed it into the ground. Black Hawk and I, we got it out and dragged it to the entrance of the realm, but it was collapsing so fast, we weren't going to make it, so Black Hawk, he…" Billy grimaced and made a motion with his good hand. Machiavelli and Scatty both winced, despite having only the vaguest inclinations of what that hand gesture might mean. "Anyways, he got it off and my hand should heal in a week or so. We had a shaman look at it. They put some stuff on it. I don't really understand but…" He shrugged, the movement apparently caused him some pain, and he let out a pathetic squeak.

Machiavelli got to his feet in an instant. "Billy," he breathed, putting both hands on Billy's face gently. "Stop moving your arm. You're just hurting it more."

The outlaw stilled. He gripped Machiavelli's hand with his good one. "I'm trying not to, if it makes you feel better."

"You should get some rest," Scatty suggested. Machiavelli dropped his hands; he'd forgotten they weren't alone, that this night had hardly went the way he'd planned. He nodded. "Why don't you sleep in Niccolò's room tonight?" she suggested and he looked up sharply. She smiled thinly at him. "He can make sure you don't use it and you wouldn't have to go up to the top floor."

"I'm not an invalid, I can walk up the stairs," Billy laughed. He looked from Machiavelli to Scatty. "Okay. Okay, I'll go with Mac. Just like old times, huh, old buddy?" He went to grab his bag, but Scatty snatched it away from him. "I can't carry my bags up?"

"No."

"I've still got one good arm, you know. Oh, well, I could get used to this. Does this mean you're sleeping in my bedroom tonight?" He asked, following her up. Machiavelli clicked off the last lamp and followed them up. At the first landing, they said goodnight to Scathach; she left his bag inside the door, and they parted ways- Billy and Machiavelli on the first landing, Scatty heading up the stairs to the top floor. Once they were in the room, however, Billy wheeled around to face the Italian immortal.


	34. Chapter 34

"Now, I've got a sort of awkward question for you, Mac," Billy said once the door was closed.

Machiavelli stiffened. He had thought he got off rather easily from what had happened earlier. "What is?" he asked reluctantly.

Billy was trying to undo his belt buckle with his left hand. His fingers fumbled fruitlessly with the clasp. "Can you help me undo my pants?" The Italian blinked. "I just need the fastenings undone and then I can do everything else on my own, don't worry, I'm just not good with my left hand, contrary to popular belief."

Niccolò nodded, coming to stand before the outlaw. He slipped the belt open, then undid the top button of his jeans and the zipper for good measure. "Want me to help you with your shirt?"

"Could you?" Billy looked immensely grateful and slightly embarrassed.

"Course." Machiavelli did his best to slip the shirt up and over the Kid's head without moving his arm. It was funny, but this moment seemed far more intimate than anything he'd done with the redhead from the bar. He was reminded that he couldn't fake true love; his heart wanted what it wanted, not any cheap imitation or simulacrum. "What I did before was a big mistake," he said quietly.

"You're allowed to have fun, Mac. I was just embarrassed for you," Billy said just as quietly. "I just didn't expect that you'd be with someone." He pushed down his pants and stepped out of them, pushing them aside with his leg.

"It's not really the type of thing I do, is it?"

Billy shook his head, a soft smile on his lips. "You always manage to surprise me, Niccolò. Just when I think I've got you figured out, you turn around and do something completely new."

Machiavelli sat on the bed. "You never call me Niccolò."

"I do, sometimes."

"I thought if I slept with this girl, it might distance me from thinking about the one I really want," the tactician admitted. "But it just made me think about the real thing even more."

"Your wife," Billy sighed.

 _No_ , Machiavelli thought _, you_. "Lie down Billy, I'll put the blankets over you." He helped the outlaw settle in and carefully tucked the blankets around him. He couldn't help but tap Billy on the nose, wanting to touch him, but knowing he really shouldn't. "I'm glad you're back. Don't leave again, not for a long time."

"I'll try not to," Billy promised. Machiavelli went around the end of the bed, got in on his side and turned the lamp off by its switch. He curled on his side next to the Kid, intent on falling asleep and putting this strange night behind him. The alarm clock read half past three. "Girl looked like she was enjoying herself," Billy whispered in the dark, cutting through the silence.

Machiavelli was surprised that Billy was still thinking about her. He forced a laugh. "I pride myself on being a good lover."

"You looked like you were into it, too."

"Her lips were on my cock, Billy. Of course I was into it."

"Were you mad at me for being late?"

There was a lot of quiet. "I thought you stopped at the rodeo to have fun. I assumed you were hooking up with some girl yourself before you came back here."

"And that upset you?"

Machiavelli didn't know what to answer. He felt that his silence was betraying him. "No," he said finally. "You're free to have fun," he said, echoing Billy's words from before. Billy started to say something else. "Aren't you tired, Billy?"

"Yeah. I guess so. Mac, I..." The Italian immortal waited, but Billy didn't finish whatever thought he was having.

~MB~

All three immortals slept late that next day, having only gone to bed at the break of dawn as it was. Machiavelli slept longer than either of the other two, being the most sleep deprived. He couldn't have known that Billy lay beside him, his face turned toward him, watching as he slept for the majority of the early afternoon. He didn't know the direction Billy's thoughts took or what they lingered on either. He just knew that when he woke up, it was almost four in the afternoon and he felt incredibly groggy.

He was surprised not finding the immortals on the first floor and continued down to the ground level where he found them in the kitchen instead. Light slanted in through the windows near the ceiling, already darkening and he checked his wrist for the time, realized what was missing and fumbled in the utility drawer for the alarm clock instead. "You let me sleep past two?" he rasped in surprise.

"You looked like you needed it," Scatty told him. She popped raspberries in her mouth, sharp pointer teeth gleaming under the overhead lights.

"When were you in my room?" Machiavelli asked, startled.

"I texted her to come down at one point. I was having trouble getting out of bed cause of my arm."

Scathach smoothed a piece of hair down, fixing it for him. "You look very peaceful when you sleep, Niccolò. We didn't want to wake you."

"Oh, thanks," he mumbled. Knuckling his eyes before opening them, Machiavelli glanced over at the outlaw. "Billy, that's a… interesting choice in attire."

Billy was sitting cross legged on the counter. He'd managed- somehow- to pull a sweater over his head, rather ragged and split on one of the cuffs, an antique car design faded on the front, but had otherwise 'come as he was'. Niccolo could see the soft gray white of his briefs and true, the American immortal was wearing a saggy pair of socks, but otherwise, it didn't appear that he'd gone to any great lengths to make himself presentable.

"Are you going to walk around all day in your underwear?"

"You're in your underwear," Billy pointed out comfortably.

"But I'm wearing boxers, at least. That leaves a little more to the imagination," Machiavelli argued, focusing on Billy's face in a futile attempt to avert his eyes.

Billy took a sip of his coffee, coughed a little and ended up spitting some of it out on the counter. Rubbing his chest, he shook his head. With his good hand, he tugged on the sleeve of Machiavelli's undershirt, drawing him closer. "Not when little Niccolo's showing," he said in a low voice.

Glancing down, the Italian immortal quickly shifted his underpants, pulling them down slightly and making sure that they covered- everything- before he would look up again. "Sorry," he mumbled, while Billy gave a high chuckle. The American's eyes were crinkled with amusement. "Billy? How'd you even manage to get the sweater on?"

"I helped him," Scatty called. She was poking through the refrigerator.

Billy nodded. "I was going to put on my robe, but she pointed out that it was basically falling apart. It's one good tug away from a good time," he teased, eyes flashing. "So the sweater actually covers more. But I don't have any pants. I put in a load of laundry." So saying, he sat, swinging his legs back and forth.

"Niccolo doesn't know how to do laundry," Scathach tattled.

The Kid looked over at his Italian companion in surprise. "Really?" he asked, with interest. "I didn't know that. We're going to have to teach you querido."

Machiavelli wished to deflect all the attention he was suddenly receiving. "How'd you get dressed these past few days anyways?"

"I've been doing it myself mostly. I just end up rolling around a bit, which is hard cause I've rolled on my arm a couple of times and it really hurts!" He thought for a minute. "Black Hawk's been helping out with the fastenings though. He's not been too happy about that, but I haven't done such a great job figuring out how to do that on my own."

Scatty came over to sit with them at last. Sitting on the other stool, she motioned to the Italian. "I elect Niccolo to be your official dresser until you get your arm back."

Billy slung his arm around the Italian as best he could. "We'll have fun, buddy," he promised. "Don't worry, I can get most things on myself." He hesitated. "But I'll need help with the bandages."

"When was the last time it was changed?"

The outlaw tapped his fingers on the counter. "Friday," he said finally.

"That's going to get infected," Scatty predicted.

Billy hopped down. He landed and stumbled. "I'm going to take a shower now," he decided. "Then we can put a new bandage on?"

"Sure."

The outlaw meandered over to the stairs. "Can you bring me some pants when they come out of the dryer?" he asked, glancing behind him.

"I can do that," Machiavelli agreed. He was itching to talk to Scatty, but at the same time was afraid of what the Shadow might say to him when they were alone. He backed away from her, vague ideas of heading outside in his head.

"We're going to be outside for a little bit, so shout out the window if you need us," Scatty called after him, her gray eyes piercing the Italian's. He sighed, just slightly, but nodded to her.

"I just want to get dressed first and then I'll come out." Hurriedly, he headed upstairs where he pulled a sweater on over his undershirt and slipped into yesterday's pants. He forgot once again to put on his watch, which wasn't like him, but grabbed a pair of socks out of his dresser as he padded around on the parts of the floor not covered by the rug.

Machiavelli hurried down the stairs to the basement and back up the back steps to where Scatty was, one of Billy's leather jackets wrapped around her skinny frame.

"Sorry," he apologized, feeling a little winded at the unexpected cardio. He clutched a stitch in his side. "So. I know you're mad at me, but-"

"I'm not mad at you," she interrupted. "I was last night," she clarified, seeing his surprised expression. "But I had all night to think it over and I guess I understand why what happened did happen, even if I think it was wrong."

"I wish I hadn't done what I did." He felt very wrong-footed, more so now that she was calmly conversing with him, when he'd fully expected her to shout at him. "I didn't- I- last night," he stammered. "I hadn't done anything too serious with her. But I should have listened to you. You tried to stop me."

She shrugged. "You were drunk and upset."

He ran a hand through his hair. "So you're not mad at me?"

"Do you want me to be?" she asked curiously.

He shrugged helplessly. "Kind of, yes. I'm angry with myself."

Scatty sighed. "I know you are. But you have to let it go. Billy's not mad at you; neither am I." She shifted uneasily. He realized that the Shadow was just as uncomfortable in the moment as he was. "Are those the pants you were wearing yesterday?" she asked, eyeing him critically.

"I was in a hurry to get down here," he said distractedly. "I thought this was going to be a longer conversation and we don't have long before Billy gets out of the shower."

He thought she was going to say something else when she opened her mouth, but after pausing, she seemed to abandon their earlier conversation entirely. "You look cold, Mac."

"It's ten degrees," he said, checking his phone.

"No," she said laughing. "It's cold, but not that cold. It's in the fifties today." He gave her an exasperated look. "… oh yeah, ten degrees Celsius. Never mind."

"Americans, really now," he muttered under his breath. He pulled her towards the house, delving into the relative warmth of the kitchen. "I should bring these clothes for Billy," he said faintly. "In case he gets out soon."

She nodded. "He's been in there a while."

He grabbed a pair of pants off a hanger and rifled through the dryer. He could find any of the American's undergarments, which were, apparently, still in the washer. Giving up, he headed upstairs and grabbed a pair of his boxers before edging into the small bathroom. "Billy? You okay?"

"I'm fine," he called back through the curtain. "Just finishing up." A second later, the water turned off.

"I'm going to wait in the hall, but I've left some clothes for you," Machiavelli offered. "You don't have any clean underpants. I've got a pair of mine for you to wear today."

"Big shoes to fill," Billy joked. "Okay, I just have to get out of here in one piece," Machiavelli heard him say under his breath.

The Italian waited outside the bathroom, wincing when he heard a loud thump. "Okay?" he called through the door.

"Yep. Minor accident," Billy announced. There was the sound of something falling, a few echoes, and the outlaw mumbling under his breath. All of this took several minutes.

Niccolo arched an eyebrow, wondering what was going on behind him. "Need help?" he asked finally.

"Just in bandaging my arm." Billy limped out, carrying the rest of his clothes. He snapped the elastic of the boxers. "I left the shirt off so it wouldn't get in the way."

"And your pants?" He asked, following the American immortal into his bedroom.

"Ah, I need to be sitting to get those on with one arm."

Machiavelli eyed him critically. "Your hair is sopping wet," he observed. Watching Billy rub at it ineffectively with his left hand, he took pity on the outlaw. Pulling the towel from his hand, he wrapped it around the Kid's head, toweling him off gently. It reminded him of his children somehow. "Must be hard to lose the use of your dominant hand. Let me know if I hurt you."

"I've had a bitching hard time brushing my teeth in the morning," Billy said conversationally.

"Brushing with your non-dominant hand is supposed to build new connections in your brain," Machiavelli said idly. Running a hand through his companion's hair, he made a few last sweeps before folding the towel over his arm. "Okay, let's look at your arm."

Billy uncovered it carefully, hissing when the bandages pulled at his skin. Machiavelli bit back a groan, looking at it. Just the sight of it uncovered made him feel a little nauseous. "What did Black Hawk do to you?"

"It's not so bad," Billy said bracingly. Machiavelli quelled him with a sharp, incredulous look. "Okay, well it hurts a lot, but this is actually better than it was right after it initially happened."

"I don't know how that's possible." Billy's arm was severely burned on one side, a two inch strip wrapping its way up the side of his limb. Just below the elbow was two vertical cuts. And-

"Yeah, it's a little bit broken," the Kid said quickly, trying to fend off Machiavelli's deadly gaze. He shifted away. "Just a little bit," he offered hopefully.

Machiavelli straightened up. Backing away from him, he went out into the hall and stood at the bottom of the landing. "Scatty! I'm going to need you." He came back to the room. "What are we going to do with you Billy?" He inspected the arm carefully, not really sure how to hold it. "Does this hurt?"

"It's okay," Billy said through gritted teeth. "I just need you to sanitize it and rewrap it, okay? Please?"

"What's going on?" Scatty said from the doorway.

"Scatty, come in," Machiavelli invited her distractedly. "Look at his arm."

She made a face, inspecting it as the diseased object it was. "What the hell?'

"Exactly," Niccolo said sharply. He got the salve out that Billy had indicated, gingerly applying it along the burn. Billy hissed and jerked his arm. Afraid that he was going to damage himself further, Machiavelli held the one art of his arm that seemed safe- his wrist which was remarkably free of damage. "Careful, the lower part of the arm is broken." His voice rose a little at the last word.

"And aura doesn't fix this?" Scatty asked, letting her dark gray aura spill over the two cuts. "Apparently, not," she mumbled.

"It's mending, really it is," Billy said quietly. "The first day I felt like I had a million needles sticking in the bone."

Machiavelli wiped his hands on the towel. "We just have to rewrap it now," he told Scatty. "Can you do that, tightly? I'm going to hold him so he doesn't shift." They swapped positions, the Italian sitting next to Billy on the bed.

"This is probably going to hurt, kid," Scatty said.

"That's okay."

Machiavelli wrapped his arms around the outlaw, bracing him. He felt Billy's whole body tense, he took a sharp intake of air, and clenched his teeth. "You're okay, Billy," the Italian said urgently. He was surprised that the other man was silent; he thought he would yell out with Scatty binding his arm, but except for one groan, Billy was remarkably restrained.

Scatty did up the arm as quickly as she could, fixing it at the top. "Okay, how's that?"

"It's good, thanks," Billy said, lowly. He smiled at her, but his mouth twitched slightly. He rotated it carefully. "Think it's going to heal up soon," he decided, _fairly optimistically_ , Machiavelli felt.

"You really think it's going to be healed in a week?" Machiavelli asked incredulously. Aware that he was still holding Billy, he let go, getting up. He stood next to Scatty, both of them looking down at the American immortal. Perhaps a little put off by the attention, he grabbed his clothes, holding them in his lap.

"Don't move your arm at all," Machiavelli ordered.

"Give me my phone. Please," Billy added. So Scatty retrieved his mobile from the bedside table. "Look, we've got a picture of when it first happened," Billy said, scrolling through his options. "See?"

He turned the device around so they could see it. Machiavelli felt the bile rise in his throat a little and he had to swallow quickly. Next to him, Scatty surmised what he was thinking fairly effectively. "That's your arm?" she asked.

"See! So it looks much better now." So saying, he shook open his jeans and carefully threaded his legs through the legs. He had to yank the legs up and then kind of shimmy them up his legs, standing and lying down to accomplish his task. "I just- want- to- wear pants," he mumbled furiously. Standing up again, he spun in a circle, trying to half jump, half pull his way to pantsdom.

"Oh, for god's sake," Machiavelli finally said. He didn't think he'd be able to watching Billy… jiggling, for much longer. He pulled the jeans up the rest of the way and had to fiddle with the clasp, the act of dressing someone else not very familiar to him. "Give me your shirt," he commanded, slipping it over the bandaged arm. "I'm going to put a long sleeve shirt over this, so that if we go out, you won't get a lot of weird looks."

"I don't know, I think I'm kind of rocking this look," Billy said, looking to Scatty for approval. She tousled his hair affectionately, but shook her head.

"You look like some emo high schooler."

"Don't."

"Do."

"Children…"

Billy struggled to his feet. Grabbing the front of Machiavelli's tie with his left hand, he pulled the Italian closer to him. "Now tell me honestly, Macaroni," Scatty tittered to his left and Machiavelli shot her a disgruntled look, which she ignored, "did I smell brownies downstairs?" Billy's eyes were soulful.

"I don't know, do you?"

"Don't tease me, Niccolo," Billy begged.

He ducked his head down, hiding a small grin at hearing his actual name for once. "There might be brownies in the kitchen," he allowed.

The Kid beamed. "You're my favorite!"


	35. Chapter 35

The two immortals were doing laundry, or rather, Billy was doing the laundry and Machiavelli was watching him as if he was performing some fascinating task.

"How are you still alive, Mac? You didn't drive and now I find out you don't know how to do laundry." Billy threw a pair of boxers and a shirt in the washer and closed the lid. He turned to scrutinize the Italian immortal.

Machiavelli looked quite unabashed as he leaned on the drier. "I'm a wealthy man, I can afford to pay somebody else to do my laundry."

"But what about before you became immortal. It was my understanding that you were once a man of limited means." Billy hoisted himself up on the washer and looked at Machiavelli expectantly.

The European immortal shrugged. "In 15th century Florence, laundry was considered a woman's chore. I can't imagine it was that much different in 19th century America. Gender roles remained pretty well defined until the 20th century at least.

"I used to help my mama do the wash," Billy stated thoughtfully. "It's funny cause the first time I got arrested was because I stole some clothes from the Chinese laundry."

Machiavelli shook his head. "Why would you do that?" he asked exasperated.

"For fun," Billy said, not bothering to defend himself. He smiled wistfully. "Ah, that was when I began my career of climbing out of chimneys to escape." He smiled dreamily.

"That's why you climbed out of that chimney?" the Italian shouted at the younger man.

Billy scratched at the back of his head. "Come to think about it, if I hadn't stolen the laundry, I wouldn't have broken out of jail, and if I had broken out of jail, I might not have been a criminal. Hmm..."

The Italian couldn't help himself. He smiled slightly. "So you might say, laundry ruined your life."

"Don't be clever," the American said, leaning in to give the other man a fond peck on the cheek. "I'm still going to teach you how to do the wash."

~MB~

"You didn't do any grocery shopping while I was away?" Billy asked, poking around through the cupboards.

Machiavelli blew on his fingertips, futilely attempting to warm them, before replying. "Is this your less than subtle way of saying you're hungry?" Billy nodded. Machiavelli sighed, but smiled. "You did eat today, you know," he pointed out.

"That was so long ago," the outlaw said plaintively.

Machiavelli shifted so that he could see the Shadow, who was extracting her purchases from the trunk of the car. "Do you want any help with that, Scatty?"

"I'm good. It's just the two bags."

"I can't believe you didn't bring a coat," the Kid told her, coming back to stand next to the taller immortal.

"I packed it, I just forgot it in Montana," she said grumpily.

"But haven't you been cold on the days when you and Mac go out on adventures?" Billy pressed, momentarily forgetting his hunger in favor of Scatty's wellbeing.

"I've had sweaters. This is just the first day that even I was cold, walking around."

"We should have just stayed inside," Niccolo said, offering his opinion. "I'm going to make tea."

They'd ventured out, ironically, to the ice cream parlor. Once Billy had become aware of the brownies which Scatty and Machiavelli had made the day before, he insisted on picking up a pint of ice cream. Once he had his ice cream, he'd wanted to get a movie for them to watch after dinner. He had somehow, in true Billy fashion, cajoled them into walking in the opposite direction to stop once more in his tiny little video store.

One thing had led to another and they'd made their way through several shops before either male immortal had noticed that Scatty was unusually cold. Machiavelli had tried to be gentlemanly by offering his coat, but was secretly very thankful when Billy had insisted she take his. They bullied her into the next clothing store they saw.

"Anyways, I've got food for tonight," Machiavelli said, snapping back to the present when the kettle started whistling. "I'm going to make lamb." He looked over at Scatty. "I was going to make asparagus tips and applesauce for the side dishes. Do you want me to make anything else?"

She shook her head. "No, that'll be enough for me."

"I was hoping you were going to make dinner," Billy said happily. He tried to boost himself onto the countertop, but flailed lopsidedly and ended up leaning on it instead, attempting to look suave after his big fail.

"Did you really think I was going to let you cook when you've been injured so recently?"

"No."

Scatty watched him prepare the meat with visible distaste. "Want us to set the dining room table?" Machiavelli nodded.

"That would be nice," he told her. "We cleaned the dining room," he clarified to Billy.

"You guys did a lot." Billy rifled through the utensil drawer, throwing three sets of forks and steak knives onto a placemat. He rolled the whole bundle up. "We'll come back to get the glasses," he said, following Scatty, who'd grabbed plates and napkins.

Machiavelli nodded. "I'll be here." He waited until he stopped hearing the footfalls on the stairs, prepping the food silently but gradually beginning to sing under his breath. He was happy enough in his work, moving by instinct and forgetting where he was briefly. The lamb he put in the oven, before putting the tips in a mixing bowl and pouring olive oil over them. He turned around to get the parmesan cheese and jumped.

Billy was leaning on the door frame. He put a hand up. "I didn't mean to startle you, Mac, it's just that I've never heard you sing before."

Niccolò ducked his head. "I wasn't singing," he said, embarrassed.

"You were," Billy said, smiling. He beamed and moved into the room, moving a hand behind the Italian immortal's ear. "I didn't know you sang," he told him.

"Just when I think I'm alone."

Billy clucked at him, his smile not fading a watt. "You have a beautiful voice. You should sing more often."

"I'll consider it," Machiavelli agreed smoothly. He put the asparagus tips in the oven as well and turned around again. "I suppose Scatty sent you down here to get the glasses?"

"One arm, one glass, but with your help, sir, we could have three," Billy enticed. "Follow me up!" Niccolò gave him a look, which he ignored, but he grabbed two more glasses and they went up the stairs. Machiavelli made the Kid go up first, give him a push from behind. "Ooh, saucy, Mac," Billy yipped.

"Oh, shut up."

"Trouble in paradise already?" Scatty asked from where she was sitting at the table. They joined her at the table, Machiavelli sitting at the head of the table and the two Americans flanking him. He handed the last glass to the Shadow, who poured them all a glass of wine.

"Mac's feeling me up."

"Ooh."

"I was not," Machiavelli groused.

"Well, we know do know Niccolò is good with his hands," Scatty quipped. Billy snorted into his wine glass.

Machiavelli climbed to his feet. "I think I'm going to go work on dinner."

"No, no don't," Billy begged, getting to his feet. He pushed Machiavelli back down in his seat. "We won't tease you anymore, I promise. Sit with us."

"Do you think I have a drinking problem?" Niccolò asked, looking at the liquid in his glass. "I make very poor decisions when I drink."

"Everyone makes bad decisions when they drink too much," Billy said wisely. "You've had wine before and didn't do anything crazy. Why, how much did you have last night?"

"I had six shots," Machiavelli murmured, his mouth covered by one hand.

Billy coughed a little, the last sip of wine apparently not going down the right way. Scatty got up and thumped him on the chest. "Six? In one hour? Everyone makes bad decisions after six. We're lucky you found your way back here after that."

"Mmm." Machiavelli wished he hadn't said anything; he hated causing Billy worry. Looking up, he was surprised to see Scatty looking steadfastly into his eyes. She gave him a sympathetic smile. He cocked his head. "I think that's our timer," he said, listening intently. They all got up but Machiavelli pointed at Billy. "We'll get the food. You stay here."

Billy opened his mouth to protest, but Scatty pushed him back down in his seat as she passed. He gave up remarkably easy, taking up his wine glass again. "We have a dumbwaiter, use it," he called as they disappeared down the stairs.

They weren't too sure about the dumbwaiter, despite Billy's recommendation but it ended up working fine in getting their food up to the first floor without incident. Machiavelli handed the Kid a plate of food, then realized after watching him struggle for the first minute that Billy wasn't able to cut the meat with his one good hand. "Sorry," he said, getting up to help him. "I should have remembered you only have the one arm."

"It's okay," Billy said, watching the other man cut up his food into bite size pieces. "I keep forgetting myself."

"But I should have remembered," Machiavelli asserted stubbornly. The lamb all cut up, he put the knife down on the side of the plate. "Since I've been worrying about your arm all day."

"Have you really?"

"Of course, you're hurt." Machiavelli cut his own meat, the fork grasped in his left hand. He looked to Scatty. "Can I get anything for you?" She shook her head, daintily eating the tips. He looked over at Billy again. "Tell us more about your trip," he suggested.

Billy brightened. He launched into a spirited tale of the first day of their trip, sparing no detail. Machiavelli was spellbound, not so much by the story, which ranged from inane to interesting, but by the man behind the story. He knew that he was probably being fairly obvious, the way he was acting, but he also knew Scatty wasn't going to judge him.

It was a nice meal overall, Billy's story capturing their attention for most of the evening. Eventually, Billy's over the top story telling sparked some competition from the Shadow and the two played off of each other, telling ridiculous tales in the vain hope of outdoing each other. Occasionally, Machiavelli felt compelled to either drop in a story of his own or bring them back into the realm of possibility when they got a little too extravagant.

Scatty got up to use the bathroom at one point and Billy leaned in close to the Italian immortal. "Hey. I promise we'll stop teasing you about the other night," he reiterated.

Machiavelli handed him a piece of bread, buttered. The Italian immortal had a feeling that his American counterpart felt bad about bringing it up before, but he'd known that Billy had never meant any harm by it and just didn't realize half of what he was feeling. He shook a hand. "It's okay. You should just probably never mention it to Black Hawk," he said shrewdly, thinking that the Native American immortal was probably the last person he wanted to know this particular detail, though either of the Flamels could make a close second.

"Although, he might give you more respect for that kind of thing," Billy said thoughtfully. He caught the micro-expression on the tactician's face. "But I won't say a word."

"How much did you see anyways?" Machiavelli asked, turning slightly pink. He pushed the last bit of asperagus around on his plate before stabbing it.

"Not much," Billy valiantly lied. He received a look from the Italian immortal and he gave in, just slightly. "Enough to say you have nothing to be ashamed of?" He smiled charmingly at the Italian. Scatty came back in at that moment and they both switched seamlessly to another topic. "So then Black Hawk said to me…"

Machiavelli couldn't even pay attention to Billy's story beyond nodding occasionally when the American paused. Had Billy been flirting with him? What had he meant by that last comment? He could have meant the girl, but once again he felt the familiar twist of hope, pitted deep in his stomach. He didn't know what to feel…

~MB~

"Oh," Billy groaned, flopping into his armchair. "Ow. Oops." He grimaced, rubbing his arm, having apparently landed on it rather severely.

Machiavelli and Scathach looked at each other. The Italian decided to be the one to speak up. "Billy, you can't just flop around like that. You're seriously injured."

"I forgot for a second."

"You forgot?" Scatty broke in. She looked incredulous.

"He did this last night too," Machiavelli told her, sounding exasperated. They talked over Billy's head, him looking back and forth between them to keep up with the conversation. "He turned over in on his side and nearly crushed his bad arm."

"I'm right here, you know," Billy interjected cheerfully. He'd been following the conversation like a tennis match. Now he gave a little wave.

"Was that the high pitched whining sound I heard around five in the morning?" Scatty asked with interest. He tapped her hand and she absently began stroking his hair. Billy shook his head, but let her pet him, even closing his eyes and leaning closer to her.

"Yeah, that was me," Billy admitted, leaning his head back. "But Mac made me feel better."

"What'd he do, finger you?" The Kid jerked his head up and Machiavelli blushed. He grimaced at her and vehemently shook his head. "Oh, you're never going to live that down," she told him.

The Kid slapped her on the ass. She looked affronted. "Leave my stud muffin alone," he defended the Italian, beginning to laugh. In between bursts of laughter, he explained what happen. "No, Mac rolled me back. Put a heating pad on it. Tucked me in again. Did you sleep with Mac, while I was away?" he asked earnestly.

Both of the other two immortals looked down at him in puzzlement. "You know what I mean. No, not that! Did you share a bed with him?" Billy clarified. "Mac's going to be a great person to sleep with in the winter. He radiates heat." He got distracted when he looked to his right. "Hey! You got my records out."

"There's a reason for that," Machiavelli said. "That is, unless we want to continue to harass each other about our sex lives, of which right now, only I have one." That shut them both up. Machiavelli didn't bother hiding his half smile. "Anyways, I fixed your record player."

"You fixed it?" Billy got up.

"Just needed a new arm," Machiavelli said, walking over with him.

"Ah, just like me." Billy bent over the player, inspecting it closely. "This is good work." He looked over at Machiavelli. "How'd you know I missed my record player?"

"Billy, you have over a hundred records in my closet. It was a lucky guess."

"So, what are you going to play?" Scatty interrupted from where she was lounging on the couch.

"Hmm…" Billy held his arm as he sidled around the Italian immortal. "What do I want to hear? What do you want to hear?" He looked in between his legs at her. "Hmm… ah, this!" He pulled one record from the shelf and handed it to Machiavelli. "Could you? For me? I've just got the one arm."

"Sure." Machiavelli turned it over in his hands. It was Ella Fitzgerald's cover of Don't Fence Me In and he smiled; this was the perfect song for his American friend. Billy beamed as the music started. He pulled Scatty off the couch with his good arm. Niccolò perched on the side table, smiling a little as he watched Billy do his best to dance with the Shadow and thinking how he'd made a terrible mistake. He sat, watching them dance.

Billy was singing along with the record.

"…give me land, lots of land under starry skies above, don't fence me in. Let me ride through the wide open country that I love, don't fence me in…"

He spun Scatty in a tight circle, holding her close to his frame with his working arm, and she was actually laughing.

Machiavelli was conscious that he was happy, that happiness was the emotion he wanted to hang onto more than anything else, but also knew that deep down, in that tiny part of himself that he kept under lock and key, he felt just the smallest pang of jealousy. He tamped it down, unwilling to indulge the emotion. He was surprised then, when the Kid looked at him over Scatty's shoulder and winked.

He tilted his head and grinned.

When the song ended, Billy released her. "I'm so glad you came down here Scatty. I've missed seeing you," he told her.

"Same here," Machiavelli told her. Since she was in an unusually affectionate mood, he got up and held his arms out, giving her the option to refuse.

Surprisingly enough, she accepted his invitation. She had to hug him around the waist, tall as he was, but she did wrap her arms briefly around his skinny frame. "Well, I guess I'm glad you guys like having me around," she mumbled into his chest. He settled one hand on her head, stroking her hair. Overall, he was unsure how long she'd let him continue; he was surprised she hadn't already yielded contact.

"We love you," Billy told her, speaking for both of them. He looked at her fondly.

"What about Niccolo. Don't you love him?"

"Of course I love Mac. I love both of you. I'm so glad to be back with you again."


	36. Chapter 36

"He's sleeping a lot," Scatty observed, settling into the Kid's armchair.

"He did during the summer when he got that huge hole in his stomach too," Machiavelli said idly. "It must just be his body healing."

"You must like this though," she said, pulling the throw of the back of the chair and motioning to the situation unfolding before them.

It was Tuesday morning. The three immortals were in the living room. Billy was asleep, turned on his side. His head was propped on Machiavelli's thigh. Every once in a while a gentle snore would escape.

Machiavelli ran his fingers through Billy's locks. "He did this on his own," he said, defending himself. The outlaw twitched, making a soft moaning sound. They stilled watching him, but he moved restlessly and continued to snore softly. Occasionally, a sharp intake of breath marked how uncomfortable the American immortal must really have been.

"You didn't exactly fight him on it. Anyways, I think it shows how much he likes you," she said, leaning forward and dropping her voice.

Machiavelli didn't want to get his hopes up. He rested his hand on Billy's shoulder, rubbing the soft knit of his pullover. He let his aura spark, spilling the white mist around the outlaw's sleeping form. The Kid quieted again and Machiavelli smiled, feeling that he must be a little better. "Maybe it's just familiar. Back on the island, he was like this when we were waiting to see what would happen. We're just friends."

"Do you really think Black Hawk would let Billy do this?" she pointed out. She gestured significantly.

"No," he admitted. "But Black Hawk's a lot more macho than I am. Or will ever be," he decidedly thoughtfully.

"I'm your friend. You going to let me rest my head on your junk?"

He shifted slightly. "I mean if you wanted to and you were comfortable with it, it's not like I'm getting sexual pleasure from this right now." He indicated the Kid, who'd flipped over on his back and was now gargling slightly, his mouth open, and his hair askew. "I wonder when Black Hawk's getting up here," he added, as an afterthought.

"I suppose when he gets here, all this lovey dovey stuff between you and Billy will have to go underground," Scatty opined shrewdly. Despite her unaffected air, Machiavelli liked to think that she was upset for him; it made him feel better. He too, had deduced this much.

"I'd leave that up to Billy. Black Hawk's more his friend than mine." He paused. "Billy was always a little self-conscious about how he acted around Black Hawk though, even this summer when I was much 'younger'.

They were interrupted by the outlaw, who was stirring. Mostly asleep, he made to shift onto his right. "No, don't!" they both shouted. But it was a little late. He rolled on his side, promptly jolted awake, sat up, let out an incoherent whimper and blinked at them.

"What happened?"

"You rolled over on your arm again," Machiavelli explained, scooting closer to him. "That must have hurt, caro."

Billy rubbed his lip, then showed his fingers to them. "I think I bit into my lip," he mumbled, the red fluid trickling down his chin. "I just wasn't expecting it- a lot of pain all at once- I could kind of hear you talking but-"

"Billy, stop talking for a minute," Scatty ordered, exasperated. Pulling a dozen tissues out of the box, she pressed it to his lip. The American immortal stopped babbling, though Machiavelli noticed he kept blinking, obviously still half asleep and very confused.

"I'm going to get some ice for his lip," the Italian immortal said, feeling helpless. Scatty nodded. Coming back up with a bag of shaved ice, they peeled the tissue from his lip and handed him the bag. "Feel better?"

"Moi lip doint huwt, sits mew awm," Billy said through the bag.

Machiavelli and Scatty looked at each other. "Your lip doesn't hurt, it's your arm?" Niccolo translated tentatively.

Billy nodded. Setting the ice on the coffee table- Scatty wrinkled her nose- he felt his lip experimentally. "It's stopped bleeding," he said gingerly.

"Scale of one to ten, how much does your arm hurt?" Machiavelli asked.

"Three."

"Really? Come on," Niccolo coaxed, not believing him when he saw the tears forming at the corners of Billy's eyes. "I can give you some pain killers if your arm hurts."

Billy rubbed the moisture away roughly. "Sure. I guess some pills wouldn't hurt," he admitted reluctantly.

"You want to take some medicine?" Billy nodded. "Good, I brought some up with me. How many do you want?"

"What's the maximum dose?"

Scathach leaned forward. "How much pain are you in?" she asked, reiterating Niccolo's question but using a lot more force when she said it.

Billy got to his feet, moving back and forth. He clutched his arm, stumbling a little. "I don't know. A lot, I guess. It's just cause I put weight on it," Billy said through gritted teeth. "Can we do something to distract me?"

"Sure," they agreed readily. "What do you want to do?" Machiavelli asked, watching the American immortal pace back and forth.

"Hmm, I don't know… Maybe something exciting to take my mind off of the pain?"

"I'll look at the newspaper," Machiavelli offered. Pulling it off the side table, he quickly flicked through the pages. "Okay, this weekend… there's a haunted tour of the Eastern State Penitentiary, but that's not until next week. There's a Harry Potter Festival in Chestnut Hill, but I don't think you're interested in that…"

"I've read Harry Potter," Billy said breathlessly. He tightened his grip on his arm, grimacing in pain.

Machiavelli looked up. "Really? Why?"

"I've had a lot of time on my hands," Billy defended himself. "What's going on with that?"

"There's a pub crawl… and a Quidditch match?"

"I'm not in fit shape to play Quidditch," the Kid decided thoughfully.

"What on earth is Quidditch?" Machiavelli whispered to Scatty, who shrugged. "Why don't we just take a walk around the block, Billy?" he asked. "You're not really up to doing much right now. We could always do something bigger some other time."

Billy nodded slowly. "I suppose so. Can we at least get dinner?" he asked hopefully, checking his watch.

"Sure," Machiavelli agreed, who would have said yes to any request the American presented at that point.

"Can we walk wherever we go?" Billy pressed, looking from Scatty to Machiavelli and back again.

"Do you really think you should be walking?" she asked acridly.

"Why, cause of my arm? I feel great!"

"What if you pass out?"

Billy wiggled his eyebrows at her. "You could carry me back."

"I'm not carrying your fat ass back here, you're going to have to walk."

 _This conversation could go on all night._ "Okay, well let's see what's close by to eat." Machiavelli stole the Kid's phone, typing in their address and pulling up a map. "How about this place?"

Billy peered over his shoulder. "That's a very fancy restaurant. I'd have to get dressed up."

"Okay, well that rules out these two," the Italian commented lightly, scrolling around. "How about this one?" But Scatty didn't want seafood. "This one?" Too vegan, according to Billy. "Why don't you two pick a place to go? I'll get your shoes," he told the American immortals, exasperated.

"Most of these places are kind of expensive, Billy," he heard Scatty say to the Kid. "We should just pick a place. It's not like any of us are hurting for money, these days." Vaguely, he could hear Billy's murmured reply as he headed up the stairs. Stopping in their room, he grabbed Billy's trainers instead of his boots, thinking that they would be better for him to walk in, and snagged a thick overcoat as well on his way back down.

"Have you decided on a place?" he asked, coming back. They nodded. "Good. Here I'll put your shoes on." He knelt before the outlaw, slipping his feet into the shoes and tying them securely.

Billy leaned forward, watching him. "You're a good friend, Niccolo," he observed. There was a tone of love in his voice that made Machiavelli's heart swell. "You've been nicer to me than anybody else."

"I'm very fond of you," Machiavelli said, lightly and quietly. He helped Billy into the overcoat. "So, where are we going?"

"It's called the Dandelion and it's just a road or two over," Scatty said, stealing the Kid's leather jacket again. Following the outlaw down the stairs, she slipped her arm into his once they reached the pavement. Keeping up easily with his long legs, Machiavelli fell in line on Billy's other side.

"Know what I want to do next summer, Mac?" Billy said happily. He directed their group. "I want to go to the beach again," he said before either immortal answered him. "Do you remember our little cottage on the beach? You were very little then."

"I vaguely remember that time. It's kind of fuzzy," he admitted.

"Do you remember all the time in the cabin, though?" Scatty asked, curious.

"Yeah, I remember all that. It's just the first few weeks that are really fuzzy."

"What else would you want to do?" Machiavelli asked, curious. He glanced at the American immortal as they approached a pedestrian light, trying to distract the Kid from the pain he'd been feeling.

Billy let go of Scatty's hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "I should show you the house I have up in New Hampshire. I haven't been up there in like fifty years, it's going to need a lot of work if we do go up there."

"Work like we did on this place when we got here?"

"Well, more than that," Billy said thoughtfully. "Cause me or other people have stayed here at least within a decade or two. And the other place is an actual house, like three stories and a bunch of windows. It has a porch," he added excitedly. "When it's summer time you can lay in the backyard and see the stars."

"You would like that," Scatty agreed. "Every time I talked to you on the phone, it seemed like you were trying to find the stars."

"You can't really see them in the city," he told her. "Too much light pollution. There's our restaurant," he added, pointing it out to Machiavelli, who'd been unsure up to that moment where they were going. "I don't know though… maybe you don't want to have to fix up another house?" He looked anxious; slight worry lines creased his forehead.

"If we had a house, we'd have more privacy for me to teach you how to use your aura," Machiavelli observed lightly.

Billy's expression cleared. "Here, we are," he said happily. He twisted to hold the door for Scattty, then ushered in Niccolo. Bringing up the rear of the group, he put his hand on Machiavelli's back as he crammed himself into the small waiting space.

"Three?" their host asked, grabbing a stack of menus. "Right this way."

Of all the places they'd been so far in Philadelphia, Machiavelli ranked this one as one of the best. Cream colored walls were offset by a ceiling painted olive green to match the carpeting on the floor. A large chandelier in the center of the ceiling threw light to all the corners of the room; otherwise, wall sconces made up for any shadowed areas that might have escaped the larger fixture's scope.

Their waitress sat them not quite next to the windows, but at one of the tables closest to the big bay windows. Billy and Scatty sat on the booth part of the table, while Machiavelli pulled out one of the dark wooden chairs.

"This seems like a fancy place," Machiavelli said quietly to Billy.

"Yeah," Billy agreed, looking around. "It used to be a karaoke bar here. I was kind of hoping they'd do that, just for old time's sake."

"I highly doubt they would ever deign to do a karaoke night," Scatty muttered out of the right side of her mouth. "Not at these prices."

"Mac," Billy said after they'd placed their orders. "Scatty tells me she brought you to a couple of bars?"

"We only went to one or two," Machiavelli clarified.

"That's true. And Mac didn't have much to drink at either," Scatty backed him up. "But he did dance with a couple of girls."

"Mac has this way with the ladies," Billy observed. "They were swarming him when we went that first night we came to town."

"They weren't swarming me," Machiavelli corrected, but it was no use.

"And obviously he managed to sweet talk a lady on Saturday…" Billy's eyes were crinkled. "Who would have thought you would be the one to…" He trailed off, but only because Machiavelli shook his head at him.

"I'm not trying to pick up women," Machiavelli insisted. "You guys bring me to these places. I don't want to sit back like a wallflower, but I'm not- you think…" _It's no use_ , he thought, his voice fading. "I have no intention of dating any other women."

"I didn't mean anything bad by it." Billy leaned forward. "Did you go home with any of them?"

"Just Scatty. Not that way," he said quickly, realizing that what he'd said sounded off.

"Although we did kiss. And I've seen you naked now. And you've slept in my bed just as much as you haven't," she said mildly. Looking back from the window, she caught sight of both men looking at her incredulously. "But I digress…"

'You think?' Machiavelli mouthed at her.

Billy was frowning. His head had swiveled so fast, the Italian was surprised it stayed on. "What?" he barked, trying to keep his voice quiet, but still trending upwards. "You've seen him naked? When?" he hissed. He looked back and forth between the Italian and the American immortal.

"When he was getting out of the shower," she said innocently. She flashed a grin at him. Out of Billy line of sight, Machiavelli spread his hands in a 'what gives' posture. 'Are you out of your mind?' he said without speaking.

"But why were you-? Why was he-? What?" Billy floundered. "Oh, thanks," he said as their food was set before them. He looked quickly back and forth between the two. "Huh?"

"It's no big deal," Machiavelli said for the umpteenth time that night, it seemed.

"Although it kind of is," Scatty said brightly. She smiled into her pasta, before fixing her face to a more neutral expression.

Machiavelli wondered if this was what a stroke felt like. _Scatty's completely gone insane_ , he thought wildly. He couldn't possibly see what she was trying to accomplish with this teasing, except to exercise the muscles in his heart.

Billy wasn't eating either, he noticed. Glancing over at Machiavelli, their eyes met. For a minute, time stood still. Then the Italian pulled over Billy's dish. "I'm going to cut this up for you," he said lightly.

"Thanks."

"Billy, can I ask you something?" He didn't look up.

"Of course, Mac. Anything."

Machiavelli put the plate back in front of the Kid. "Scatty and Billie stayed late at the bar the night we went out. I called you… You never picked up. And, I think," he hesitated, "that you stopped calling me. I thought maybe you were mad, but…"

Billy froze. "I wasn't mad," he said softly. Scatty looked over at them, but said nothing. "But you're right, I did stop calling- that was wrong of me, Mac," he said earnestly, looking a little upset now.

"It's okay, Billy."

"No, it's not. It's just," now Billy looked really ashamed, "the other guys kept teasing me cause I was calling you. Said I was a-" he changed directions rapidly. "I should have kept calling you, but I thought that soon I'd be able to come back and I'd get to see you and I'd make it up to you."

"Really, Billy, I'm okay with it. I was just wondering. I thought maybe I'd done something…"

"No," the Kid said aggressively. "I was the one who was wrong. You know that, don't you?" He jabbed his fork at himself.

The teasing look had left Scathach's face. Looking over at her, Machiavelli knew there was more that had been left unsaid, but for now he left it unsaid. Billy was already looking downtrodden and that wasn't what he'd intended, not at all.

"Billy, want to hear about what Scatty did to some creep in one of the nightclubs?"

~MB~

"I think it's time to head for home," Machiavelli commented, looking at Billy. The American immortal was beginning to slow down, stumbling a little on the uneven pavement of an oft used sidewalk. They waited for him to catch up.

"Slowing down in your old age?" Scatty asked him, wrapping an arm around the outlaw's thin waist.

"Never!" Billy grinned. "Well, maybe. Why do you think I tire out so easily these days? That never used to happen…"

"Couldn't have anything to do with you getting hurt three days ago," Scatty said sarcastically. "Honestly, Billy…" Heading west on Sansom St, they passed a flower shop. Billy, who was luckily still awake enough to navigate their group, pointed them left onto S. 19th St. Passing the flower shop seemed to remind the Shadow of their previous adventures. "Niccolo got me flowers. What have you done lately?" Scatty asked, poking him.

Billy grinned. "Why didn't you get me flowers?" he asked Machiavelli, instead of answering her. "I lived with you much longer and you never did anything romantic for me…"

Machiavelli squinted at him. "I'm sorry. There will be a trail of rose pedals leading to our bedroom tonight."

"Good." Billy smiled, his eyes scrunching up with good humor. "Cause I don't think I ask for much, Mac, just a little respect for our relationship."

"You never answered Scatty's question," Machiavelli pointed out drily.

Billy looked on his other side. Scatty gave him her best 'what gives' look. "I'm awfully sorry, Ms. Scathach. How can I make amends?"

"Chocolates," she said promptly.

"I will get you the biggest box of chocolates I can find," he promised, fluttering his eyelashes at her. "I like daisies," he added, swiveling again to see his other companion.

"Why not roses? What exactly are we celebrating with these flowers?"

"I don't know, what were you celebrating with Scatty?"

"I just wanted to do something nice for her cause she's important to me."

Billy seemed to be falling asleep. "Am I not important to you?" he prodded, his feet dragging more as he got more tired.

"Of course you're important, I just…"

"Daisies last longer," Billy told him, relieving him of his self-imposed duty to explain himself. He stopped to stretch, his face ashen. Arching his back, he shifted his position again. "Plus, they're cheaper," he added as an afterthought.

"Billy, are you getting tired?"

"Mmm…" The outlaw crossed his arms around himself. "My arm hurts… it's been awhile since I've really felt pain to be honest…"

"What hurts exactly?" Scatty asked, scanning him.

"Hm? Everything," Billy laughed, then grimaced.

"You should have been honest before we went out to dinner and told us that you were feeling sick," Machiavelli chided from his side.

"I thought it would pass. It's not like we were going to really exert ourselves. We sat in the restaurant for two hours."

"But we didn't have to walk over," Machiavelli pointed out, jogging up the front steps to let them in.

Billy tossed his coat at the coatrack by the front door- it missed and fell to the floor. He stooped to pick it up, trying to hang his coat more carefully the second time around. "I didn't want to risk crashing the car," he explained, moving into the living room and looking like he was going to flop down for a minute- both of the other two immortals tensed, imagining the pain he'd find himself in then. He seemed to remember at the last minute that this was a poor decision and half flopped, half sat on the couch, not capturing any sense of the word grace in his movements. "Join me!" he called.

Scatty caught him lightly on the shoulder. "Why don't you go upstairs and lie down?"

"I want to be with both of you…"

"Here, Billy," Machiavelli said, unable to watch him shift anymore. He sat beside the outlaw, taking his hand. "Lean into me. I'll give you some of my aura. Maybe it'll help." Wrapping his arm around the outlaw's shoulder, he let tendrils of white smoke spill out.

"I think your aura color did change, Mac," Billy said, dazedly watching the wisps curl around his arm and sink in.

"I told you it did." Machiavelli watched the outlaw. "Is this helping you?"

Billy nodded, still looking rather fragile. "I'm just sleepy though… Tell me about what you've been doing. When did Scatty get here?"

"I got here about a week ago," Scatty commented.

"I'm glad you came," Billy told her sleepily. "I didn't like leaving Mac alone."

Machiavelli raised his eyebrows. "You know I've lived alone for hundreds of years, don't you?"

The outlaw's eyes were closing. "I don't want you to be alone ever again," he slurred. "Maybe it is time to go upstairs. Will you come with me while I'm falling asleep?" He looked from Machiavelli to Scatty. "Please?"


	37. Chapter 37

"What are you doing?" Machiavelli said sleepily.

Billy jolted up, the remote he'd been balancing on his stomach falling to the ground. He fished it off the floor again and tossed it on the coffee table. "Oh, hey, Mac. I couldn't sleep. I'm just watching some TV."

"Oh. I woke up and you were gone." Machiavelli rubbed at his stomach absently. The floor was cold beneath his feet and he wished he'd thought to put some socks on. He blinked in the dim lighting. "What are you watching?" he asked as the commercials came on. He settled onto the couch.

Billy laughed. He wrapped an arm around the Italian's shoulders, pulling him close. "It's a special on the Chicago Blackhawks, which I thought was silly, so I'm watching it."

"The Chicago Blackhawks," Niccolo said slowly. Billy was looking over at him with a grin, his glee ever present. "This sports team isn't named after our Native American friend, is it?"

The Kid nodded vigorously. "A sometimes dubious honor," he said solemnly, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Seeing as some years they perform better than others. Usually, they are good though. He's pretty smug about it." The commercials ended and the outlaw paused. "This is basically all about the 1967 trade the Hawks made with the Bruins. Worst trade they could have ever made. They gave away Phil Esposito, Ken Hodge, and Fred Stanfield for Pit Martin, Jack Norris and Gilles Marotte. Can you believe that?"

Machiavelli shot him a side glance. "Kind of. Pretend I'm stupid."

"Oh, yeah, you wouldn't know sports. Well, Martin did star for the Hawks for a long time, but the three people the Hawks gave up, they led the Bruins to the top," Billy explained, his lips close enough to Machiavelli's ear that the effect was distracting. "They won two Stanley Cups during those years and Esposito went on to be one of the NHL's all-time greats. He's in the hockey Hall of Fame now."

"So, they made a really bad trade," Machiavelli surmised.

"Mm hmm," Billy agreed. They both watched the screen until the next commercial came on. Machiavelli was trying not to yawn. He could maybe summon the strength to watch an actual hockey game, but a documentary about it seemed to be asking too much. "Why couldn't you sleep?" he asked finally, resting his head against the outlaw's, since Billy didn't seem to mind so much.

Billy rotated his shoulders. "It's nothing really, I was just thinking about something…"

"It seems like you've had something on your mind for the last couple of days," Machiavelli told him curiously. "Or do you always have this much trouble sleeping?" he wondered. Searching his mind, he tried to remember if he'd ever actually caught Billy sleeping. It seemed like the American immortal was always already up by the time he got out of bed.

"Meh, from time to time, I go through periods of insomnia," he hedged, shaking his head back and forth slightly as he thought about it. "Usually, it doesn't matter much cause I mean we're immortal. Like Billie's always telling me, we don't actually have to sleep that much. I just like it, cause I get to be comfortable and I like being comfortable. You know, Mac, I need more socks."

"Billy, you're babbling," Machiavelli said sternly. He tapped the American immortal's face with his hand. "So, you're not going to talk to me about it?"

"I swear it's nothing big," Billy insisted. He looked over at his companion. Letting go of his shoulders, he moved over to give them both more space. Machiavelli instantly felt colder. "You know, Mac, we have a very strange relationship. We don't act the way typical guys do. Everyone thinks we're too close."

"Who?"

The Kid looked pained. "Nobody. Nevermind."

Machiavelli felt a little hurt, betrayed, like there was a hole in his gut where Billy's words had punched through. _I thought we had a good relationship,_ he thought dizzily. "No, come on, Billy," Machiavelli argued. "Talk to me about it. This was what you were alluding to in the restaurant tonight, isn't it?"

"Well, that's part of it, but…" Machiavelli waited but the American didn't continue his thought. He frowned, his eyes fixed on the television.

The Italian took off the necklace he kept tucked under his shirt. He held it in front of the Kid, soft light glinting off the gold. "Do you want this back now? I know I'm not your kid anymore."

Billy pushed his hand away; he looked sharply at his companion. "Of course not. I gave that to you, Mac."

"Well, I thought you might have felt differently now," Niccolo mumbled. Running it through his fingers, he made to set it on the table in front of them, but Billy grabbed his fist and pushed it back towards his body, away from the table. "I just didn't want to hit you with my elbow, fastening it again," he explained. "I can put it on later."

"I'll duck," Billy promised. "I like you wearing it. Cause then wherever you go, you'll have to remember that- that- that people love you. I do," he said, jabbing his chest. The pained expression was there again. "When I come home late- or you don't hear from me- it doesn't mean a thing."

 _This is why I stay on the sidelines. Emotions are only easy to control if they belong to someone else._ He made to get up. "Well, I think I'll let you watch your show, Billy. We've been talking through it too much as it is."

"Are you sleepy?"

Machiavelli shrugged. "I don't know. Not really anymore I guess. I think I'll read for a little while, then try again."

The Kid hesitated; he seemed to be turning over something. "Could you stay with me for a little bit? I've missed talking to you, really I have," he begged.

"You could have called," Machiavelli said without thinking about it. "I mean…" He looked awkward.

Billy tilted his head, thinking about it. "I'm really sorry I haven't been calling you, Niccolo. I just…" he made a face. "The other guys…" He stopped again. "I really wanted to talk to you. And then I felt bad cause I hadn't called and I didn't know what to say." He glanced sideways at the Italian immortal.

"I figured that you must not want to talk to me, otherwise you would call. So I didn't want to bother you," Machiavelli explained. He sat down again, gingerly. "I thought maybe now that you'd reconnected with your old friends, that you didn't need me now. You don't need my friendship the way I need yours."

"Querido, you're an indispensable friend."

"Anyways, Scatty told me you weren't mad or anything. So I'm not too worried about it, either way."

Billy looked over at him quizzically. "What else did she tell you?"

"Nothing else," Machiavelli negated, shaking his head. "She said I should talk to you."

"Oh," Billy said thoughtfully. Worry lines creased his forehead. "A couple of the other guys kept teasing me after I talked to you. Said I sounded like a fag." He glanced quickly at the Italian immortal. "I don't mind being mistaken for gay, but the way they went on… I was thinking that I didn't want them thinking about you like that either."

Machiavelli was quiet, digesting what Billy'd said to him.

"I shouldn't have stopped calling for that," Billy babbled, sounding truly recalcitrant. He bumped his shoulder against the Italian's. Machiavelli smiled at the pseudo-masculine form of affection.

"It's hard when those around you cling to ideals of the past," he said softly. "I imagine it's even harder when it's your friends, people that you like."

They sat in silence, watching the program for a long time. When the Black Hawk documentary ended, the Kid turned it over to an old western channel, dialing down the volume considerably so they could talk over it. Flickering waves of light bathed the room in a gentle blue gray glow.

"You got closer to Scatty while I was away," Billy commented.

 _He sounds almost jealous_ , Machiavelli observed. "We were close at the cabin too," he pointed out.

Billy nodded. He stretched his legs out in the air, then let them drop back down to where they'd been resting on the coffee table. "But you still love me best of all, don't you?" he asked, half joking, but also somewhat serious.

 _Set up some boundaries or you'll keep getting hurt, Niccolo._ "Billy, you just said we had a strange relationship because people think we're too close," the Italian pointed out. He watched the Kid's face fall. He ran a hand through his hair. _I can't do it_. "Of course, I like you more than the others. None of them would have liked me if it wasn't for you."

"That's not true," Billy said instantly.

"Well, I think it is."

The American immortal was quiet. "Do I let you down, Mac?"

"No, William. I just got used to being around you twenty-four seven. It was strange to be apart." He paused, watching an absurd fight scene between two cowboys. One punched the other, who flew across the room and over the bar, his legs comically flying up in the air. "Do I seem upset?"

Billy shrugged. "Maybe a little? If you tell me what's bothering you, I'll tell you what's bothering me."

Machiavelli mulled it over. He liked knowing secrets, but on the other hand, disliked divulging secrets. _And how could I ever tell Billy that I'm getting a little depressed because I'm in love with him? That's not fair…_ "I think for now, I'll sit on mine."

The Kid looked greatly relieved. "Okay. Hey, Mac? Forget what I said before. I like the relationship we have. I love all of my friends. Why shouldn't I tell them I love them?" Machiavelli nodded, but that last part seemed to be more to someone else than to him. He wondered how much Black Hawk and the others influenced the way Billy interacted with him. It seemed like on some level, despite his bravado, he still cared deeply about what the others thought.

"We're not typical people in general. Why should we have a typical friendship? That would be boring for the both of us," the tactician pointed out. "Let's go back upstairs, Billy. You're going to be tired tomorrow morning, I know it."

"Are we going to do anything tomorrow?"

"I was going to let you call the shots again." He turned the TV off and pulled Billy to his feet. "You know you can always confide in me, William."

"I know. It's just a little thing I'm turning over in my mind. If it really gets bad, I'll tell you about it. I promise." He yawned. "See, I'm falling asleep now. I just needed to watch some television. Thank you for watching my boring documentary with me. I appreciate your being here."

"Don't mention it," Machiavelli sighed. "Ever again." He was surprised, after Billy's earlier comments, when the American immortal slipped an arm around his waist and helped him up the stairs.

"Did I tell you? I'm learning a little Italian."

"I thought you didn't want to get it mixed up with your Spanish."

"I'm working on it," Billy said eagerly. "It can be a bit confusing at times, but I wanted to impress you. I do pick up languages relatively quickly."

"Well, I can start coaching you a little if that's something you're interested in." He pushed the Kid towards his side of the bed. Billy eased onto his side of the bed and switched off the light on his own, so Machiavelli climbed in on the other side. He continued to talk to the American immortal. "I don't think Italian's a hard language to pick up, but then I could be biased…"

"Hey, you found my momma's old book," Billy interrupted, leaning across Machiavelli to reach for the book that he'd left on his nightstand table. "I- can't- get- it," he strained, and gave up. "I've been looking for that. You found it?"

Machiavelli carefully took the tome in both hands. "I did," he admitted shyly. "When I was dusting the books upstairs and… it seemed special, so I brought it down here." He made to hand it to Billy, but the American put up a hand refusing it at the last moment.

"I wouldn't be able to hold it with just the one arm," the Kid explained, scooting closer to where the Italian sat so that he could look on. His eyes were bright with excitement. "It was my momma's," he reiterated, tracing one finger over the cover of the book. "She brought it over when she came from Ireland. She used to read the stories to me. In English, mostly, cause she wanted me to have a chance of a future-that's what she'd say anyways- but in Gaelic when she was tired." He motioned Machiavelli to open the book. "It's all written in Gaelic, you see. I can't read Gaelic."

Machiavelli didn't know what to say. His companion seemed to both adore the book and be saddened by it. "I can't read Gaelic either." He turned the pages slowly. "Wouldn't Scatty potentially be able to read Gaelic?" he wondered out loud.

"I thought Gaelic was native to Ireland. Isn't Scatty Scottish?" Billy asked sleepily.

"There's Scottish Gaelic and there's Irish Gaelic. To be honest, I don't know what the differences would be…"

"I should ask her if she could read some tomorrow." The Kid hesitantly took Machiavelli's hand with his good one. "I miss my mother."

Machiavelli couldn't help but stroke the American's head, brushing the hair from his face absently. "That's understandable, tato. It must have been terrible to lose her. Especially when you were just a little boy."

"I was almost fourteen," Billy corrected him.

"That's still little. Remember during the summer when I was "fourteen", you still wanted to baby me?"

"You were my baby," the outlaw said dazedly.

Watching him, Niccolo decided he looked a little pale. He slipped off his side of the bed and went around the bottom to sit on Billy's other side. "I'm going to check your bandages before we go to sleep." He began to unwind the bandages. "So how's that any different from what I said?"

Billy smiled, then winced when his arm was finally unwrapped. "It just was. Mac? What's wrong?"

"Your arms bleeding. I'm going to fix it." Machiavelli let his aura flow out of him, tracing sparks on Billy's skin. The cut closed again and after examining the American immortal's arm for further injuries, he redid the bandages.

The color came back to the outlaw's face. "Thanks."

"Anytime." Turning, Machiavelli began to dispose of the older bandages. Behind him Billy began to speak again.

"My mother was sick for a long time." Machiavelli turned around; Billy was looking at the ceiling but, perhaps feeling the Italian's eyes on him, he turned ever so slightly. "When she got really sick- the last time- I knew that it was best for her to go, instead of being in pain, instead of dying slowly. But…"

He turned off the lamp next to Billy, gently took the book away, placing it on the bedside table, then finally climbed into bed beside him again. "But it's not easy to lose the ones you love."

The Kid nodded, his throat tight. "When the doctors said she wasn't going to get better," his voice was scratchy, "I felt like I was panicking or suffocating or something. I didn't know how I was going to get by without her."

Machiavelli's fingers closed around Billy's hand. "I hope we find her."

Billy smiled at him through bright eyes. "Me too."

The Italian searched desperately for a way to make Billy a little less sad. "Tell me about when you were little," Machiavelli prompted. He switched off the last light.

Billy laughed. "I was a very sweet kid," he began immodestly, "but I was also probably pretty difficult to deal with at times. My mother had a lot of patience."

"What'd you do?"

"One afternoon, when I was very young, I climbed into the hay loft of the neighbor's house and fell asleep. I ended up sleeping all afternoon. Uh, unbeknownst to me, my mother had noticed that I was missing, obviously-"

"She must have been out of her mind," Machiavelli interrupted.

Billy nodded. "She ran around to all the neighbors carrying my brother- he was maybe six months old at the time and she's saying, 'I can't find Billy, have you seen him?' so everyone is looking for me. Apparently, they started searching the river, my mother was crying- everyone thought I was dead for sure- and then around dinner time, I wandered over to our house again. My stepfather drags me out to the search party and he says 'he's right here, everyone go back to your own business'."

"Your stepfather didn't look for you?"

Again, Billy shook his head. "I don't remember why," he admitted. "But no, he was at the house."

"Pierro walked into the woods behind our house one time," Machiavelli remembered, "We didn't know where he was and I felt like my life was over. Why didn't they search the hayloft though? You wouldn't have gotten far."

"Mm, well apparently they didn't think I could climb the ladder. The river was equally nearby, just in the other direction. It ran behind our house." Billy scratched at his stubble.

"So, was your mother mad?"

"No," Billy negated. "You'd think she would be."

"Well, she was probably just glad you were safe."

"Mm, I remember she slept in my bed that night. I liked it so much, I asked her to do it every night." Billy huffed a little. "She said no, obviously, but I really tried to convince her that it was what she really wanted to do."

He rolled over on his side. "Let's see… Right around that time, I remember being a little unhappy, not in a big way, but she'd just gotten married in the last year, and my brother was born… it had been just the two of us the first few years… That was probably tough for her but I liked it, personally…"

"Were you jealous when your brother was born?"

"Yeah…" Billy's leg twitched; he apologized. "Josie wasn't an easy baby, he was born premature and needed a lot of special care and I was only about three years old when he was born and was used to being the baby myself… I didn't take it very well when he came along. I tried to put him in the outhouse once."

Machiavelli laughed; he couldn't help it. "Your mother must have loved that."

"She took it in stride but my father was furious. He backhanded me. So I'm crying and Josie was crying and my mother's trying to keep everything together."

"He sounds like a nasty man."

"Mmm, he got very attached to Josie right away cause he was his son, but he never cared for me too much. I think my mother shielded me from a lot of it. I don't remember being that unhappy, growing up, to be honest. Do you really like these stories?"

"Sὶ."

"I learned to love my brother. It just took a while…"

"Getting tired, Billy?" Machiavelli asked.

"A little," the American immortal said comfortably. "But I like talking about my mother. I miss her."

"Have you been thinking about where we might find her?"

Billy nodded. "I've been putting a list together, while we were chasing Kulkulan down. I've got a few places I want to try… Feel bad, though. I can't really narrow it down very much. I don't know where she'll be. What if we can't find her?" He propped himself up on his good arm to look at the Italian.

Machiavelli also sat up, hunched over in his sleepiness. "We won't stop looking until we do," he promised solemnly. He brushed his knuckles over the American immortal's arm.

"I hope she's not in Ireland," Billy murmured. "I don't know where she lived there. I barely know where she lived over here."

"How old was she when she emigrated?"

"My age. Twenty-two. She was with my birth father, but he died shortly before I was born. I never knew how. Strange, isn't it? Not to know where you come from."

"She didn't talk about it?"

"My stepfather didn't like her talking about her previous husband."

Machiavelli pushed Billy down, as gently as he could, and laid down himself. "So, where do you think she might be?"

"I've been thinking about where we've lived. I was born in New York, then we moved to Indiana when I was eight. When I was eleven, we moved to Kansas. We moved to Colorado when I was twelve. We didn't stay there long before moving to New Mexico. She died there, a little while later," Billy ticked off the locations. "I don't think she'll be in Colorado cause we were only there a couple of months. And New York seems unlikely too, cause she didn't have an easy life there."

"That leaves Indiana, Kansas, and New Mexico. Is this why we moved to this safe house? To check out some of the locations?"

"Nah, I just thought you'd like the city after being in the country for so long. Indiana is actually about 8 hours away."

"We should have stopped when we drove through last month."

"I thought about it. But it was raining and I just wanted to get to where we were going. We could have been searching in Indianapolis for hours anyways; it's all become so developed."

"That's how I feel about Florence." Machiavelli would have continued talking but just then a snore escaped from the other side of the bed. Sighing, he pulled the blanket so that it was covering them both more. "Good night, William."


	38. Chapter 38

"Can we go out to the countryside?" Billy asked the next morning. "I want to see the leaves before they all fall."

"You want to take a drive around the backroads?"

Billy both nodded and shook his head. "Can we go hiking?"

"What about your arm?"

The Kid clucked impatiently. "I don't walk on my arm," he said impatiently. "All of Saturday, I was on a bus or in a car. Sunday we got out a little. Yesterday I slept a lot. Don't I deserve some exercise? Please, Mac."

"I can't stop you, if that's what you want to do." Still, the Italian immortal had misgivings. Billy had looked rather pale and drawn since coming back.

"Oh, but Mac, I want you with me. And Scatty, too. She'll come. Please, say you will."

That was enough for Niccolo. He'd never been able to resist Billy's pleas, from the very start of their relationship. "I suppose you have a certain place in mind," he said shrewdly.

Billy brightened. "I do. I'll get the map."

"I'll go let Scatty know. See if she wants to come along. But Billy," he said sternly, stopping in the doorway and facing him again. "I don't want you over exerting yourself. If I see you getting tired, I want us to go home."

The outlaw grinned. "Yes, sir."

Truthfully, Machiavelli had been a bit bored himself, staying inside the past few days. The days were clear, if a little gray, and the leaves on their street alone were beautiful. Paris was very pretty in the fall, even he'd been able to see that, but there was something different about the riotous color of the American East Coast, leaves forming a solid carpet below their feet when they walked on the sidewalk.

And besides, he was happiest when planning for something. Though a simple hiking trip didn't have the same complexities of a war stratagem, he felt responsible for Billy's health and wellbeing, especially after having been cared for by the man for months on end. With this in mind, he began to make a list of what he wanted them to bring. Scatty helped him gather supplies, agreeing with him that they should bring the bandages and an extra blanket or two; both immortals felt that Billy might be pushing his luck, mere days after getting horribly mangled.

Glancing up at the sky one more time, Machiavelli made the last minute decision to grab an extra change of clothing for each of them. He filled a duffel bag, grabbing some of Scatty's clothes out of the dryer, and throwing it all in the trunk for later. He went back upstairs to find the two American immortals waiting for him by the door. "Are we going now?" he asked.

"Billy wants to grab lunch from down the road first."

He nodded. "Do you want us to come with you?" he called to the American immortal.

"Nah, I'll be right back," Billy said, spinning on the sidewalk to give them a wave, before turning back around.

Machiavelli turned around instead to look at the Shadow. "What are you thinking about?"

"I was thinking that if I stand on this step, and you stay there, we're the same height Niccolo," Scatty pointed out. They watched Billy talking animatedly with the other people waiting in line. "How you feeling?"

Niccolo shrugged. "A little up and down," he admitted. "We were up late talking last night."

"That's good, boo," she said.

He made a face. "It is and it isn't. The more we talk the more I know that I love him and that he doesn't feel the same way."

"Maybe you need to make him aware that you're looking for more than just friendship."

He quirked his eyebrows. "Want me to bring more women home?" She cuffed him on the head. "Okay, okay, what are you suggesting?"

She was about to answer him when she caught sight of Billy finishing up at the street vendor. "Do you think you're ever going to tell him how you feel?"

"Maybe," he said idly. "Maybe not, it's hard to say. Now, if I stand on that step and you take my spot, you come up to my waist. So don't get too cocky," he advised with a little grin. "I'll always be taller than you."

She leaned over, resting her arms on his shoulders. "I wish I was taller sometimes," she admitted thoughtfully. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course, but what-?"

She kissed him before he knew what was happening, not a quick peck, but a full lip lock. He could tell she was smiling and he didn't know what she was doing, or what her plan was, but it wasn't unpleasant, kissing her. "What are you doing?" he asked, breaking the contact.

They heard the sound of keys hitting the sidewalk. Backing up, Machiavelli saw Billy, trying to pick up his keys and hold the bag of food at the same time. "I've got to go help him," he told Scatty, before striding over to the American. "Drop your keys?" he asked redundantly, stooping to grab them.

"Ya- Yeah. What are you two doing?"

"Ah, friendly kiss," Machiavelli said bemusedly, not really sure himself what was going on anymore, but feeling pleasantly warm. It occurred to him that he had missed intimacy all these years. Still, he had a feeling that Scatty was running a play and it was far more risky than any he'd ever commit to…

Billy looked like he wanted to say something more on the matter, but they'd come back to stand in front of the house. "You kissing my guy, Scat?"

"Ownership traded hands last week. He's my guy now," she teased, grabbing the bag of food. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah, but wait, listen Scatty…" Billy said trailing the Shadow into the car. He got in the driver's seat, so Machiavelli sat beside him in the front and away they went.

Watching him desperately spinning the wheel with one arm in order to get out onto the road, Machiavelli knew he was going to have to drive them back. As it was, this seemed like a bad idea now to let the American immortal drive with his one good arm, but it seemed to have been an unconscious choice on the Kid's part. He listened to Billy and Scatty banter back and forth, both claiming to be the one most liked by him.

"I'm your favorite right?" Scatty finally asked him, tapping him on the shoulder.

"Don't be serious, he loves me best," Billy affirmed. Getting into the middle lane, they shot forward in the traffic.

Machiavelli laughed nervously. "I love both of you."

"Are you the jealous type?" she asked the Kid, learning forward.

"No, well, okay, yeah."

"But you don't really have a claim to our Italian friend here."

Billy took the interstate out. "No, well, I guess that's true, but…" He trailed off, merging perfectly with the oncoming traffic. Machiavelli was greatly interested in what the American immortal wasn't saying.

"Anyways," Scatty said comfortably, sitting back in her seat. "I was just kissing Niccolo for the fun of it. He's a good kisser. And it's been a while."

"How often have you two kissed?" Billy asked in surprise.

"Couple times; we had to fool the neighbor girl after all…"

"There are other ways to do that," he argued.

"I suppose so," Machiavelli broke in to the conversation. "What would you have us do, fuck against the window?"

"What, no," Billy yelped. "Let's talk about something else… Aren't the trees nice guys? Guys, please?"

"It's very pretty," Machiavelli said smoothly. _It is very pretty,_ he thought to himself, enjoying the scenery. A lot of the trees in the city were beginning to shed their leaves already, but here in the rolling countryside, the trees still had riotous color. "Do you have a plan for where we're going or are you just cruising?"

"Cruising," Billy proclaimed happily. "Let's put the top down," he decided suddenly, pulling off the road at his first chance. "We don't get to see the sun too much, in the city. Not enough, anyways!"

Getting out, Machiavelli helped him, making sure that the American immortal didn't tax his damaged limb.

They drove for over an hour. Machiavelli began to wonder if they were going to be able to find their way home, but he trusted the American immortal enough to not question it. _Besides,_ he reflected, _these two are like a pair of fucking bloodhounds, sniffing out their trail._

"This looks like as good a place as any," Billly commented at last, pulling onto a side road. A sign told them they were entering Nockamixon state park. Parking in the main area, they all sighed in relief, but for differing reasons.

"How's your arm?" Machiavelli asked him, getting out and coming around to his side.

"Hurt's a little. It's hard to drive with one arm."

"Do you want to go back?"

Billy looked at them with wide eyes. "We haven't gone camping yet," he pointed out, sounding mortally wounded. "That's why we've come here."

Scatty and Machiavelli exchanged a glance. "Okay, but let's not hike all day," Scatty ordered, handing Billy the hoodie she'd been holding. "Put this on.'

Billy had been getting quiet, the past day or so, but now he chattered incessantly. Twice, he took Machiavelli's hand fondly, squeezing it before letting go. His head moved as though on a swivel- he seemed to notice things that Machiavelli and Scatty were immune to; namely beautiful flowers, small animals, and discarded sneakers. They chose a path carving into the wood, the water's edge just barely within their sight line, sometimes walking in companionable silence.

"Let's stop here, for a bit," Machiavelli suggested finally. They'd come across a long disused stone wall. He sat down gingerly. "Aren't you hungry, Billy?"

"I am," he agreed readily. Climbing next to the tall immortal, he leaned on his companion. "I don't like our neighbor," he said suddenly and with such force, that the other two immortals were quite surprised.

"What, Missy? She's a bit annoying, but what's she done to you?" Machiavelli asked, laughing. "You've only been back a day or so."

"I just don't like her," the Kid said restlessly. He sat up straight, kicking out at a pile of leaves.

 _Why, though?_ Machiavelli wondered, intrigued. _Last time we talked on the phone about her, Billy was amused. It must have been what happened this morning that got him riled up. But why?_

"She's pretty annoying," Scatty agreed.

~MB~

Billy was whistling away. He goose stepped up the trail, Machiavelli and Scatty trudging behind him. Looking back, he seemed surprised to find some considerable distance between them. Turning around, he shuffled back down. "What's the matter?"

"Billy, it's raining," Scatty pointed out. Machiavelli felt she had a right to use the indignant tone which she did. The American immortal didn't seem to have noticed that for the last hour or so, there was a faint but steady drizzle working its way down through the leaves.

"Oh," he said, looking up. He smiled. "I like walking in the rain. I didn't really think about it. Why didn't you say something earlier?"

Machiavelli opened his mouth and closed it again. He knew that he'd never say no to the American immortal. "It hasn't been so bad. I kind of liked it too."

Billy smiled at him. "You're a good guy to lie to me, Mac. I just liked being outside for a while. I've just been cooped up in Jeeps and on buses for the past couple of days." He held his arm to his torso but bounced happily on his feet. "We can head back now, guys. It's going to take a while to get back."

So saying, he turned in the direction they'd just been coming from and made to go that way. Looking at each other, Scatty and Machiavelli exchanged a glance. "Come on, Billy," Scatty said with a sigh. "It's not that bad out. We can continue for a while yet." She tugged on his good arm.

"We'll only go for a half hour more then we can turn around," he said, throwing himself on her. He tottered, losing his footing on the uneven ground and she had to seize him around the waist to pull him back upright. "I'll be careful!" he promised before they could remonstrate him in any way.

He let go of Scatty and sidled up next to the Italian immortal. They padded through the undergrowth, Machiavelli settling his hand on Billy's shoulder to keep a steady watch on him. "So, Mac," Billy said cheerfully. "I missed a couple of growth spurts, true, but do you plan on keep on growing? Cause it's starting to get ridiculous."

"This is my full height," Machiavelli assured him. "I'm only maybe half a foot taller than you."

"Is everything else its full size?"

Scatty smacked him in the back of the head. "Billy!"

"It's a fair question," he defended himself. "Did you see his Italian sausage?" He ducked, laughing. "I'm sorry, Mac," he apologized again. "I was just trying to get a rise out of her," he explained.

The Italian nodded, but didn't trust himself to speak. He could feel his face burning. "I've been wondering how long it would take you to get to that name."

"You can call me any nasty name you want to," Billy said fairly. He waggled his eyebrows, making Niccolo laugh despite himself.

"There's nothing I can say to make you feel bad. You're incorrigible."

"Thanks, I've been trying."

They reached a fork in the trail. One path continued on through the forest. The other lead towards a little lake. Billy looked at a sign for kayak rentals and turned to Machiavelli. He opened his mouth. "Mac."

"No."

"Scatty?" She also shook her head. "It's the rain thing?"

"It's the you've got one arm and yes it's raining thing," Machiavelli pointed out.

"I think it's closed anyways," Billy agreed. Still, he trotted towards the squat little cabin on the edge of water. The other immortals had no choice but to follow him. "Kayaking season might be over."

He looked disappointed, so Machiavelli swallowed the smart alec remark he'd been tempted to say. "We can go kayaking next year," he said, rubbing his hands together against the cold. He felt damp; Scatty, he knew was mostly impervious to the broader spectrum of temperatures, but didn't like to be wet. "Billy?" he asked, following the American immortal who was tracking the footprints of some bird. "Can we-?"

"We can head back, Mac, sure," Billy said immediately. He stepped carefully around the tracks, careful not to smudge them and came back to their little group. "Did I ever tell you about the time I pranked Black Hawk?" he asked them.

"What did you do?"

"I- get this-," Billy was laughing hard, "I was living with him at the time and every time he went out somewhere, I'd take apart his phone and put another penny or a quarter in or something and put it back together. So he gradually got used to the weight of it. Then one day, I just took them all out."

"Oh my god, Billy."

"He nearly ripped the phone off the wall, him with all his brawn, honestly." The others couldn't help but laugh, Billy's laughter infectious and the thought of the muscular Native American immortal falling victim to his trick too much.

The Kid's story reminded Machiavelli that he'd been meaning to ask Billy something. "Do you know when Black Hawk's going to arrive here?"

Billy shrugged. "He promised he'd call when he was starting to head up, but no, he didn't say specifically when. I think he'll be coming up with a few people though… but they wanted to stop at a whole string of saloons and rodeos and bars so they might lose a few people along the way."

"Are they all still together in one group?"

Billy shook his head. "When I broke off from them, it was Black Hawk, Jesse Evans, Billy Morton, and Fred Waite. I'm hoping that Jesse and Billy don't come up."

"Why, you don't like them?" Machiavelli asked, wondering in his head if these were the ones who'd given the Kid a hard time about their phone calls.

Billy shrugged. He rubbed the back of his neck, mulling it over. "I don't hate them," he said mildly. "But they can get kind of wild. It was different in the sixties when the apartment was a shithole place to be, but now that it's our home, I don't want them causing too much trouble."

"What kind of trouble do you think they would cause?" Scatty called from behind them.

The outlaw laughed. "I don't know," he admitted. "They might be on their best behavior for all I know, or they might tear the chandelier of the ceiling- accidentally, of course- but they might do it."

Machiavelli felt a twinge of foreboding. If Billy was afraid of what they might do, he definitely didn't want the extra company. "I guess we'll just have to have a contingency plan in place in case they just show up out of the blue."

"Mm, well that's half the reason I swung up here before them, was to get a bed to sleep in," Billy joked. "I'll try to give Black Hawk a call tonight, see what's up."

"You came running back cause you missed us," Scatty declared.

"Well, that's true. One of you at least. Oops, ouch," Billy muttered. He had slipped on some slick leaves, the rain having accumulated enough moisture to do some damage now. Landing heavily on his knee, he only prevented himself from falling down by grabbing onto Machiavelli's pants at the last minute.

"Are you alright, Billy?" Machiavelli asked, grabbing the outlaw's hand. He reached down and wrapped his arms around Billy's waist, trying to pull him to his feet.

"Fine, fine," Billy said apologetically. "My balance isn't quite what it is normally."

Scatty came around to his other side and together they wrenched him back into an upright position. "But you're still having fun, it seems."

"I had so much fun today," Billy agreed eagerly. He sneezed. "Sorry," he said to Machiavelli, whose hand he'd sneezed on. The Italian discretely wiped his hand on Billy's pants. "I like the occasional rainy day."

"Billy, you're one in a million."

"No, really, I do. And it's good sleeping weather. I'm going to sleep so good tonight…"

"What do you do when we sleep?" Machiavelli asked Scathach curiously.

She shrugged. "I sketch a lot," she admitted reluctantly. "And sometimes I meditate. Mostly, I practice with my aura."

"Mac's going to teach me how to use my aura better," Billy told her. He snapped his fingers and a warm, bluish purple flame flickered to life in his cupped hands. "My friend Charlie just taught me how to do this. Here, it'll warm you up, querido."

Machiavelli looked up, surprised that Billy was talking to him. The American immortal tipped the flames into the tactician's palm, his hand grazing the Italian immortal's long fingers. "This little flame generates a lot of heat," he commented, feeling his clothes, damp from the rain, begin to steam off.

Billy nodded excitedly. "He learned it himself from some Indians who have to cross through the Great Basin Desert." He produced another ball of fire for Scatty. "There's our car!" They let the flames flicker out as they approached.

They were, unsurprisingly, the only ones still parked at the park entrance. Feeling the wind begin to pick up behind them, they ran to the car. Scatty ducked in first, climbing in the backseat. Billy surprised Machiavelli by climbing into the passenger seat. "You can drive us home, can't you, dear?" he asked, gazing up at the tall immortal.

Machiavelli licked his lips nervously. "Sure," he said, feigning confidence. He leaned in through the door. "Want your dry clothes?" he asked Scatty.

"When did you pack clothes for me?"

"Mac's like a Boy Scout, semper fi," Billy broke in.

"Sure, whatever you've got for me."

"Hey, Mac?"

"I packed some clothes for you too," Machaivelli affirmed. Opening the trunk, he rifled through the dufflebag, grabbing a long sleeve top and sweatpants for Scatty. _Billy's going to have a much harder time changing,_ he thought, _even if his use of his arm is better than it was two days ago._ He grabbed a Henley style sweatshirt for the American immortal.

"We'll have to dry out your pants with the heater," he told Billy, tossing the clothes back to Scatty. "Since you need a six foot space to dress yourself these days. Here, I'll help you with the shirt though."

"Is this mine?" Billy asked, fingering the material.

"It is now. I just picked it up at the store the other day."

"You bought me clothes?"

"It's late fall, William, and you have t-shirts and that leather jacket that you and Scatty seem to co-own."

"Mi chaqueta es su chaqueta." Billy looked back at Scatty, realized she was changing, and hurriedly looked forward again. "Why didn't you tell me she was changing?" he remonstrated Machiavelli, pulling off his t-shirt and throwing it on the floor of the car.

"I didn't want to draw attention to it," Machiavelli said smoothly.

"We live together, Billy, you haven't seen me in my bra yet?" Scatty piped in.

"I have now," Billy mumbled. Machiavelli left him to wrestle into the new shirt, crossing in front of the car and climbing in the driver's side. He had to jam himself in, then adjust the seat accordingly, being much taller than the American immortal. He cranked the heat up as high as it would go and cautiously started the car.

"You remember how to drive it, don't you? Cause I can drive if you're not comfortable, Mac."

"He drove me home from the airport the last week. And when we went out of town, the other day."

"I remember still," Machiavelli acknowledged. But he felt tenser, knowing that Billy was his passenger this time, even though he knew in turn that was silly. Billy would never yell at him, no matter what he did. _But still, this is Billy's baby. He's had a longer relationship with it than with me._ "You're going to guide me though, aren't you?" he asked nervously. _I wasn't paying that much attention when we first drove here._

"Course." Billy was already punching the address into his phone and pulling up the GPS system. "Were we really on the road for 2 hours?"

"Yes."

He carefully looked back at her and, finding her fully clothed, turned in his seat to talk with her. "What's the matter, you didn't enjoy my tour up here this morning?"

"I get car sick."

"Do you really? Were you sick this morning?"

"No, I was surprisingly okay."

Machiavelli listened to them prattle back and forth. He was reminded of how Billy had told him he thought of Scatty as a sister- it certainly seemed so.

Billy fell asleep an hour into the ride home. Scatty and Machiavelli talked quietly among themselves. Both had been waiting for the outlaw to crash all day; in fact, it was rather surprising that it had taken this long. Machiavelli hoped that this adventure today would sufficiently tire him out for a couple of days. Only when he started resting was his body going to heal.

Scatty was surprised when he pulled off the road, but, promising he wouldn't be long, Machiavelli left the car running and ran inside the little grocery store he'd noticed on the way over. Coming out, he tossed a bouquet of daisies in the backseat with her, shrugging at her as he didn't know how to explain himself.


	39. Chapter 39

"Oh," Billy groaned. He stretched out on the couch, his hurt arm kept securely against his body. "I. Just. Want. To sleep."

Scatty leaned over the back of the couch. "Why are you so tired? We didn't walk that much."

"He said he wasn't sleeping during the time that he was away," Machiavelli answered for him, tucking his leg underneath him. "He's probably still tired from that, aren't you?"

She poked him. "Missed Machiavelli that much, did you?"

"Yes," he said with a soft smile. He closed his eyes. "Who wouldn't?"

"He told me that it was because he didn't trust Jesse Evans not to do something to him in the middle of the night," Niccolo clarified, feeling his insides warm with suppressed pleasure. He sat where the outlaw normally would, taking off his sneakers with some relief.

"I thought you were friends with Jesse Evans," she said, coming around the couch. She lifted his legs- he pulled them back for her- and sat at the other end of the couch, begrudgingly letting him rest his feet in her lap.

"It's complicated," Billy said simply. He shifted and made an odd snuffling noise. He held up one sock covered foot to the Shadow. "Rub my feet?" he begged.

"Absolutely not."

"Mac does it for me," he enticed, as if that was going to be the argument to convince her. She looked over at the Italian immortal, who shrugged noncommittally. "Please, Scatty? My feet feel like we walked hundreds of miles…"

"Well, who's fault is that? I'm not going to rub your sweaty, smelly feet." She ignored the puppy eyes he sent her. "And that's not going to work either."

"Switch places with Mac, then? He always rubs me when I need it."

"That sounds so awful, Billy," Niccolo protested, waving his hands in front of him.

"What? Oh, well, you knew what I meant. Fine, don't rub my feet… I'll just wither away over here…" he trailed off. Neither of the other immortals engaged him and he sighed wistfully. He rubbed his stomach. When they continued to ignore him, he looked over at the Italian immortal. "I can't believe you got so old while I was away."

Machiavelli shifted under his gaze. "I've been aging at the same rate as always. You knew you were going to miss a few birthdays."

"I know. I just didn't know how much I'd miss them." His eyes fluttered shut. "I figured it out last night, Mac. On the 18th, we're going to be the same age for once." He smiled.

"You really have it all figured out, like that?" Machiavelli asked, half exasperated, half intrigued.

Billy nodded. Pulling a little notebook out of his pocket, he flipped it open and began reading off the dates. "You've aged a year a week since this has started. June 8th, we estimated that you were about three years old, on September 21st you turned 18, and now on Saturday, we'll both be twenty-two years old!"

"That's quite amazing, Billy."

"How old will Niccolo be at Christmas?"

The Kid flipped the page. "Thirty-one." He looked over at the Italian immortal. "It'll be a little strange, having you older than me again, but good in a way too, I guess."

"Have you thought about what age you're going to want to take the potion at?" Scatty asked, looking over at him. Billy looked at him too, making him nervous.

"Hmm… Well," Machiavelli delayed, "I haven't quite settled on an age, but I think for now I wouldn't go all the way back to the age I was… I mean, this seems to be a one-way process, so I can't really go backwards again, not easily at least…" He pondered the question, reflecting that he should have spent more time considering it before now. "I'd want to be a bit older than the age I am now, at least," he concluded finally. He looked over at Billy. "What do you think?"

Billy was much more decisive. "I think you should be a little bit older, but not too much older than me. Like I'd cap you at your early thirties. If you're thirty-two, you're going to be ten years older than me. But then again… I did like you being older than me."

"Did you?" Machiavelli asked in surprise. He looked over at Billy, watching him sag into the couch. "You didn't like me as a kid?" he asked, half joking, half serious.

He saw a smile break through the American's features. "Of course, I loved you as a kid. You were my sweetheart. But I think I'm going to like you being an adult again, cause it means I can go back to being the Kid. I don't have to make all the big decisions anymore. Make sense?"

Machiavelli nodded. Coming closer to Billy's side, he sat down on their coffee table; he knew it was sturdy enough to bear his weight from all the times he'd seen Billy standing on it. "Just as long as I don't age back to my 'medieval' age?" he asked, smiling faintly when he remembered Billy's particular wording.

"Medieval was the wrong word, Mac," Billy slurred. "Very wrong of me." His stomach gurgled.

"Do you want to eat something before you go to bed for the night?"

Billy nodded, perking up. "Can we have pizza?"

Machiavelli stood up. "Would you call it in for us, Scatty? You can put it on my card. I'm going to get a couple of the spare blankets from the closet."

"We have spare blankets now?"

Niccolo put a hand down on Billy's head as he passed. "Scatty and I did some shopping while you were away. I'll be right back."

"And then will you massage my feet?" Billy called hopefully after him. Machiavelli unwillingly agreed, so the Kid pulled off his socks, tossing them on the ground. The Italian immortal tutted when he saw this upon his return, but the Kid was not in the least dismayed. Instead, he struggled to sit up, questions on his mind apparently. "Will you bring me to Paris someday? Show me where you've lived?" he asked suddenly.

"It's nothing special, my apartment, but I would be happy to bring you anywhere you want to go." Machiavelli tucked the blankets around Billy, padding him with not one but two of the thicker ones.

"Will you come with us, Scatty?" Billy asked, looking back at her to see if she was on the phone still.

"I don't know. I might come to some, not all."

"Scatty has promised me that she would bring me to Atlantis," Machiavelli told the outlaw. He glanced over at her. "It's an adventure I'm holding her to."

"Wait. No kidding? Atlantis is a real place?"

Scatty shrugged. "It's just a Shadowrealm."

"But that's still cool!" Billy said enthusiastically. He stretched out his leg, touching Machiavelli with the tip of his toe. Once he was sure he had the Italian immortal's attention, he gave him his best puppy eye look. "Mac, please?"

"Okay, Billy, but just this one time," Machiavelli sighed, dropping onto the coffee table and taking the American's foot. He settled the heel of the foot on his thigh and pressed his thumbs into the top of Billy's sole. "Tell me if I hurt you," he commanded.

"Nope, it feels good." He closed his eyes, stretching his other foot into Machiavelli's lap.

"You're so spoiled, Billy," Scatty scolded him, watching Niccolo's nimble fingers work over the muscles. For his part, Machiavelli felt he was getting quite adept at giving massages. _Perhaps I can be a masseuse now, as my last job ended abruptly_ , he thought wryly.

The Kid grinned and nodded. "Yeah… Hey, did they say when the pizza was going to come? Are we getting it delivered?"

"We're getting it delivered and there's a delay because a lot of people are ordering tonight. It could be thirty to forty minutes."

"I'm going to take a shower before we eat," Machiavelli decided. He gently placed Billy's feet down.

"One of us will come get you when the food's here," the Shadow told him. They could hear him climbing the stairs behind them in the hall. Scatty bounced her leg up and down, watching the movement. "Do you miss Niccolo being a kid?" she asked suddenly, keeping her voice low.

Billy straightened up from where he'd been leaning on her heavily. "Sort of," he admitted. "But only cause I really liked have a baby." He fluttered his eyelids, sounding a little embarrassed. "But I also missed Mac being an adult, so…" he trailed off. "Anyways, it's not like he's dead. Or even that this was sudden. I think that…"

"You do, a bit, don't you?"

"I liked being able to hold him and give him kisses, without anybody thinking it was wrong," Billy mumbled. He rubbed his nose roughly. "I really like Mac, I don't think I've ever... Men aren't supposed to be very loving towards each, at least not the way I like to love someone, so I worry that I'm overstepping myself nowadays where I didn't before."

"You and Niccolo hardly have a typical relationship, though," she pointed out. She grimaced, _that probably makes him feel even worse._ "You got close under unusual circumstances, I mean."

Billy laughed though. "No, we don't," he agreed easily. "This morning I made Mac shave me- my face that is- I would have never asked any of my other friends to do that. But he saved my life, you know? I feel differently about him than anyone else."

 _Oh, Billy, you're so close to it,_ she thought, biting her lip. She let him prattle on, hoping that he'd come to the conclusion himself.

"You must have been very surprised when it first happened."

"I was," he said faintly. His eyes were closing, but Scatty felt sure that he was still very much awake. "See, when I first got wounded- that time, not this- everything started going dark very quickly. I remember Mac's hand on me and he was leaning over me… and then everything stopped…"

"And then when you woke up…?"

"And then I woke up and I couldn't see Mac and he was the last thing I remembered. I was afraid he'd used too much of his aura," Billy confessed. He'd been joking around before, but now there was a slight tremble in his voice. "I thought he was dead, for a moment," Billy confided softly.

Unwittingly, she felt the hairs prickle on her arm. She turned on her side, listening to him talk. He shook his head as if to dispel the bad memory and she spoke up."But he was fine. Just a bit… smaller."

Billy grinned. "He was so cute, I wish you had seen him right after it happened. I think every lady within five miles went crazy over him. Wait, I've got a picture." Grabbing his wallet," he opened the flap and extracted a couple of photos. "This is my mother," he said, holding up the first photo.

"She looks like you."

He nodded. He held up a sketch, carefully folded into quarters. "A couple of years ago, historians tried to come up with what my father would have looked like, based on photographs of my mother and the one of me that they have. They said he likely would have looked like this." He handed that to her too.

"You never knew your father, right?"

"Right, he died when she was pregnant with me." He cocked his head. "Anyways, here's the picture of Mac right after everything happened."

"Oh my god," she said, taking the last one from him and looking at it. "I thought he was small when I met him over the summer."

The Kid beamed. "No, he was tiny when it first happened. Very delicate too- his features that is- and he had teeth, like a quarter of the size of my thumbnail. And his knees were so squishy," he continued, tapping his own. "I'm pretty used to the fact that I won't be having kids, but it was kind of hard to see him getting bigger, every week."

"Would you have children if you could?" she asked curiously, glancing through some of the other pictures Billy had in his wallet- one of him and Black Hawk clowning around, some of Machiavelli when he'd been halfway through his teenage years, Billy with group of people she didn't know, and… one of her. "When'd you take this?"

He glanced at it. "When you were swimming in the lake."

She shook her head. "You didn't answer my question."

"I don't know," he admitted thoughtfully. "I mean, I could have children, physically. But do you mean if I knew they would be immortal too? I'd have to think about that…" He glanced at her. "But it isn't likely to happen anyways, so…"

The doorbell rang.

"Pizza's here."

"I'll go get Mac," Billy offered, struggling out of the blankets. Getting up, he fell immediately back down again, dropping onto the couch.

"Are you okay, Billy?"

"Just lost my balance, is all," he explained away cheerfully. Getting up slower this time, he gave her his most winning smile. "I'm fine! I'm going to get him."

"Be careful on the stairs," she cautioned. She went to answer the door.

He waved a hand to show that he'd heard her. Using his good arm, he pulled himself up the stairs. By the time he got up to the second landing, he felt quite tired. ' _What's happening to me?'_ he wondered. Knocking on the bathroom door, he eased into the little room. "Hey, Mac?"

Niccolo turned off the water. Poking his head out, he pushed his hair out of his eyes. "Is the pizza here already? That didn't take long…" Billy nodded, leaning against the wall. "Are you alright, William?"

"Course," the Kid said with a grin.

"Wait a minute, I'll get out." Grabbing the towel the outlaw proffered, he wrapped it securely around his waist before coming out. "Are you sure you're alright?" he asked, putting a hand to Billy's forehead.

"I'm just a little sleepy is all… Do I have a fever?"

"I can't tell."

"Ah, well… I'll let you get dressed. I just wanted to say that dinner's ready." Billy pushed out from the wall, overbalanced, and stumbled forward. He fell towards Machiavelli, who grabbed him around the middle. "Sorry!"

"William, I think you're sick," Niccolo told him, not letting go.

Billy rested his forehead on the Italian's shoulder. "I don't get sick," he mumbled. "Maybe I'm just a little tired and a little hungry, but that's it."

"You should go to bed right after this," Machiavelli insisted. He ran a hand through the American's hair, unconsciously petting him. He pushed Billy back onto his feet and grabbed the towel off the ground. "I don't want you going down the stairs by yourself."

"I just stumbled a little, I'm fine."

"No, no, just… Just wait for me to get dressed," Machiavelli bargained, toweling off his hair as quickly as he could. He didn't particularly want to get dressed in front of the American immortal, but he also had visions of Billy falling again while going down the stairs. With Billy's arm damaged, he didn't want to take chances. "I'll be quick," he promised, scrambling into his boxers.

"Don't rush because of me." Billy picked up the sweater on the hamper. "Isn't this mine?"

"Not anymore."

"But…"

Snagging it from him, Machiavelli threw it on over his shoulders. "I need it; I'm cold all the time." He led the way out of the bathroom and padded over to their shared room. "Let me get my slippers."

Billy trailed after him. "You can have the sweatshirt, Mac," he agreed amicably. "It's pretty long on me anyways." They headed downstairs.

"Where have you been?"

"Billy's sick," Machiavelli told her. "I was afraid he was going to fall down the stairs."

"You're sick?"

"I'm not sick," the Kid insisted. "I'm just a little bit tired and I have a couple of balance problems, but I'm not…" He misjudged where the chair was, sitting down, and almost toppled out; Scathach deftly pushed him back on the seat. "Ah, pizza," he said happily.

"That's got to be Billy's sweatshirt."

"He gave it to me."

"After he'd already put it on," Billy mumbled around his slice.

Machiavelli dropped into Billy's armchair. Putting his plate aside temporarily, he pulled the lever to recline. "I wear it better," he said shamelessly. The Kid scoffed, but didn't deny it. He was happy to listen to the Peter, Paul, and Mary record Machiavelli had put on and requested Ketty Lester's album 'Love Letters' when the music had run out.

Machiavelli and Scatty were developing quite the ability to communicate non-verbally. He jerked his head just slightly at Billy to show that the American immortal was falling asleep and she nodded. Wrapping her arm around Billy's shoulder, she rubbed his back; he smiled at her and received a faint grin in return. When the record was over, they didn't change it, but instead let the room slowly quiet down.

Billy was talking less and less; they had a feeling he was going to drop off, but it was still rather surprising when he dropped his plate. Using her lightning reflexes, Scatty snatched it before it fell on the floor. "Billy," she softly, tapping him on the arm. He snorted, but otherwise didn't respond. Lolling against her slightly now, they could just hear the soft breathy noises of him sleeping. "Oh, he's definitely asleep now," she said at last.

"That was pretty quick," Machiavelli commented, getting up.

"I may or may not have drugged him," Scatty said lightly, edging her way out from under the outlaw. They both seized the Kid as he began to tip over. "When you and him were doing whatever it was you were doing upstairs…"

"Scatty, you're devious. Remind me never to get on your bad side… Let's get him in bed."

~MB~

Machiavelli was dreaming. He and Billy were on the white sands of the Castiglioncello beach and he was wrapped around the American's skinny frame. He smiled, ducking his face into the crook of the Kid's neck and trailing his fingers over Billy's naval. Billy was saying something to him… he couldn't make it out over the sound of the waves…

"Mac!"

The Italian woke with a start, jumping back a little in surprise. "What's happening?" he said, completely disoriented. "Where are the waves?"

"What waves?"

"We were at… where are we?"

"Well, we're in bed, Mac. You were getting a little too chummy," Billy explained, a grin flashing over his teeth.

"I was- what?"

Billy shook his head. "Never mind, querido. Lie back down."

"What was I doing?" Machiavelli asked, settling back down beside the American immortal. He had the feeling that he'd been dreaming something right before Billy had woken him up, _but what?_

"You were just moving around a little in your sleep," Billy lied. "I thought maybe you were having a nightmare."

"Hmm? No, I don't think it was a nightmare... How'd I get on your side of the bed?"

"Well, don't feel like you have to move," Billy called out. "I was getting cold until you came over." Machiavelli couldn't see his face well in the dim lighting, but he could hear the smile in Billy's voice. "I think it must be raining," he mumbled.

Machiavelli picked up his head and listened. "Sounds like it." They heard thunder crash somewhere nearby. "Is that what woke you up?"

"No, not exactly." Turning on his side, Billy burrowed into the covers. He yawned, prompting a similar response from the Italian immortal. "Something else… I like it when it rains though. I like to be in bed when it rains, I should say."

"I know," Machiavelli said without thinking.

"I've told you that before?"

"No, well… yeah, in a way. Maybe a month ago…"

"Hmm…" Billy was quiet, his silence having a thoughtful aura to it. There was a grumbling roar much closer to them, sounding like it had touched down on the block just beyond theirs. He put his pillow over his face, snuffling. "Which window is open? The one nearest us?"

"No, the one by the chair."

"I should close the window," he said sleepily.

"No… stay in bed," Machiavelli cajoled. "That window's not going to bother us."

It didn't take a lot of convincing to get Billy to pull their comforter up higher. "Oh, well I don't care about that one as much," Billy yawned. "I was just thinking that it's raining so goddamn hard, it might be coming in the apartment."

Machiavelli nodded, but, lying there he found that all he could think about now was whether or not the rain was coming in through the window. _If it's not bothering Billy, it shouldn't bother you; let it go._ He turned on the bed.

"Oh… I should probably check that," Machiavelli groaned, ignoring Billy's protests and supplications. He moaned himself, rolling out of bed and stumbling over. "I won't close it all the way, but the sill is getting some water on it," he called in the semi dark. He left it open a couple of inches, glancing out at the rain pouring down under the streetlight below. _That's the one we almost kissed under._ He closed the shades completely and went to get back to bed.

"Do we have any more blankets?"

Machiavelli paused. "Cold?" he asked, picking his way over to their closet. He grabbed the old comforter that had been on their bed upstairs, tossing it over the bed and letting most of it bunch on Billy's side. "How's that?"

"S'good."

"Good. Good night. Sogni d'oro." He yanked the comforter up so that there wasn't any space for cold air to come in and climbed under the covers himself. He drifted asleep again. Next to him, Billy wrapped his fingers around the hand that was closest to his body and gave it a little squeeze.


	40. Chapter 40

"You awake, Mac?" Billy whispered much later that morning. He stretched out his hand, making brief contact with the Italian's before pulling back again.

Machiavelli curled on his side. "Mmm… I'm awake."

"Thought so. You take longer breaths when you're asleep." Billy closed his eyes, angling his face towards the Italian immortal regardless. His eye lashes fluttered, opening them again. "Do we have a strange relationship?"

"Yes."

Billy laughed. "You could hesitate a little, Mac."

The tactician ran a hand through his hair and ruffled it a little. He snuffled. "We got close very fast. The summer was some sort of emotional triathlon." Next to him, Billy grinned. "Now we have to figure out what our friendship is, since things have changed some. But I like the relationship we have, don't you?"

"I do." The Kid stretched, elongating his legs as much as he could. He arched his back, then dropped, rotated his neck and sighed. Machiavelli curled into himself more, yanking the blanket up around his ears. "Scatty's probably going mad," Billy said sleepily. "She never sleeps and that's all we do."

"I like to sleep late in the morning, especially since we stay up so late. Scatty takes walks in the mornings though. Not sure where she goes. But she's probably out now."

"What are we going to do today?" Billy tapped him with his leg.

"I've got to get groceries," Machiavelli sighed, not opening his eyes. Sun was slanting in from the window, blinding him. He fumbled around for his pillow, threw it over his head and peered out at Billy. His blue-green eyes were watching the Italian. "Today, we will run out of groceries if one of us doesn't go shopping," he explained, already beginning to make a mental inventory of what they might need.

"We could go to the store," Billy slurred. The Italian shook his head. "No? We can't?"

"I'll go, but I want you to stay here. I don't want you to go out today. Yesterday's little adventure really had a profound effect on you, health wise."

"I was a little tired…" Billy allowed.

"You fell asleep in the living room."

"Did I? How'd I get here?" He felt around under the covers. "How'd I get out of my jeans?"

Machiavelli rolled over and climbed out of bed. "Scatty carried you up the stairs. She's stronger than me," he said, to Billy's questioning look. He stretched his chest, hearing the tiny pops his spine made as it was elongated. "But I was the one who got you undressed after she went to bed."

"Well, at least you left me with my skivvies," the Kid joked. He looked around their room. "You got me daisies," he noticed, sounding oddly pleased. He laughed, looking at the vase on his bedside table. "That night, you were paying attention after all."

"Of course I was listening to you." Machiavelli had almost forgotten the flowers last night, but had run down to the car right before he and Scatty turned in; he was glad he'd made the effort now, noting the happy look on Billy's face.

"Well, I didn't know if you were just joking around, the other night. I like them. Men should get flowers more. We like pretty stuff too…" He watched with interest as Machiavelli stepped into a pair of pants. "Do you wear the garters every day?"

"Now that I'm wearing suits more regularly, yes."

"Are they uncomfortable to wear?"

"Not really, no."

"Hey, did you end up going apple picking?"

Machiavelli was a little thrown by the sudden shift in questioning. "Yes, we did so the first day Scatty was here. We got Cortlands and Macs," he expounded, knowing that Billy was going to ask him that next.

"Good, then we can make apple pies," the Kid said brightly.

Machiavelli stopped fastening his tie to point at himself. "We? I thought you promised me a pie. You didn't say I was going to end up doing all the work."

"I've only got one arm."

"Alright," the Italian sighed. "Tell me what we need." Pulling open his nightstand table, he grabbed a pad of paper. "Okay."

Billy wasn't paying attention. "Mac? What's that?" he asked, peering at something in Niccolo's drawer. Machiavelli froze. It was the photo album.

"It's just a book I was reading." Putting on his mask, Machiavelli calmly closed the drawer. "Billy? What do we need for the pie?"

Tucking an arm behind his head, the outlaw screwed up his eyes. "Flour, cinnamon, sugar obviously… salt, if we don't already have it, oh, apple cider vinegar…" he continued to rattle off a slew of ingredients. "And can you get some cider? Like regular cider?"

"Non-alcoholic or the booze kind?"

"Non-alcoholic," Billy said promptly. "Hey, Mac, before you go, could you-?"

"Want to get dressed?"

"At least put some clothes on," Billy agreed cheerfully. "I just need help sitting up."

"How is your arm feeling?" Machiavelli asked, bending over the American immortal. He pushed the covers back, revealing the American immortal's slim body and causing the younger immortal to shiver in the sudden cold air. Billy braced himself with his good arm, slinging it around the Italian's narrow shoulders.

"It's okay, today."

"Still hurts?"

"Only a little. Maybe I can bend it now." He experimented with his range of motion. A quick intake of breath told the Italian that it was still severely limited. "Nope! Nope. That was a bad idea."

Rooting through their closet, Niccolo grabbed a gray thermal top and navy blue fleece pants. Dropping them beside Billy, he grabbed the outlaw's chin. "Billy," he said sternly, forcing him to look the older immortal in the eye, "you're going to damage your arm more if you don't let it heal at its own rate. Understand?"

"Yep." Billy grabbed the thermal and, working it over his good arm first, managed to get it on all the way. "Can we move this conversation to the bathroom? I have to take a leak."

Machiavelli tilted his head. "You want me to come in the bathroom with you?"

"Sure, we're both men. Besides, I'm just peeing. Then I've got to do some other stuff. This beautiful face doesn't just fix itself up, you know." He grinned, turning around to make sure the Italian was still behind him. "Do you have to go? I can move over."

"I'm okay, thanks."

"I'll be good today, Mac," he promised. He coughed, hunching over into his elbow.

"You'd better…" Machiavelli cautioned, trying not to watch the American immortal. Doubling back to their room, Billy got dressed the rest of the way with the occasional help from the Italian. It was strange, but it was the small things he had the most trouble with. Socks proved too much for the American, who was growing increasingly frustrated. Seeing this, Machiavelli took them from the outlaw, slipping them on quickly and pulling him to his feet. "Let's find somewhere comfortable to put you," Machiavelli decided.

Billy thumped down the stairs after him. "I'm not an invalid," he said for the umpteenth time. "I'm walking on my own."

"I want you to rest," the Italian ordered, ignoring him. "I think our trip yesterday might have been too much for you," he said seriously, pushing him towards the living room. "That's why you were getting dizzy last night."

"I thought you'd forgotten that," Billy said sulkily.

"Not on your life. We're going to take a couple of quiet days, like we should have from the start."

"Oh, but Mac, I don't want you to be bored," Billy said earnestly.

"I won't be," Machiavelli promised. He got the remote off the entertainment stand and handed it to Billy. "Maybe you could call Black Hawk today? See what the delay is?"

"I could do that," the Kid agreed amicably. He glanced at Machiavelli's watch, grabbing his arm. "I'll wait until later," he decided. "They probably went to a bar last night, and if they did, they're going to want to sleep late. But I swear I'll do it."

"Just when you get the chance," Niccolo said distractedly. "Sit somewhere."

Billy flopped down on his armchair. "Okay, I'll stay here. Mac, how much do you love me?"

The Italian opened his mouth and closed it again. He gave Billy a searching look. "What do you mean?" he asked, his heart fluttering in his chest. _He saw the album in my drawer._

"Well," Billy said comfortably, reclining with his legs up. "Do you think you could get me a brownie from the kitchen?"

 _Then again, maybe not._ Machiavelli had the mental image of smacking himself in the face. "Sure." It was hard not to feel a little bitter. _For a moment, I thought…_ He gathered one of the blankets from last night off the couch and tossed it over the American immortal, pulling it up to his chest. "I can get you a brownie," he agreed.

"Mac?"

The Italian paused at the doorway. "Sὶ?"

"Could you bring more than one brownie?"

"I'll bring you a couple," the Italian promised. "And ice cream." He turned to go.

"And Mac?"

Niccolo poked his body around the wall, waiting patiently, he felt. Billy looked very small suddenly, fiddling with the bandages on his arm. "Would you like me to bring you another pizza, Billy?"

The Kid grinned. "No, no. Unless you want to? Kidding," he said hastily. "I love you a lot, you know that, don't you? You're still my sweetheart. I don't care how old you get."

Machiavelli felt his heart swell. He nodded thoughtfully, not trusting himself to answer. "I'll bring your brownies," he said instead.

Going downstairs, he leaned against the countertops, thinking about what he was doing to himself. Upstairs, he could hear the sound of the front door slamming shut and a gentle rumble of voices. _You can't have everything you want,_ he reasoned, _but you can get pretty close to it at least._ He opened the breadbox and took out the last of the brownies. Scooping an obnoxious amount of ice cream over them, he grabbed a spoon and went back upstairs.

As he'd suspected, Scatty was there, perched on the back of the couch. She was talking with Billy when he came up, but looked around as Machiavelli came into the room. "Good walk?" he asked her, handing the outlaw his treasure.

She nodded. "Not bad. On the other hand, five homeless people asked me for money in the half hour I walked around the surrounding neighborhood. I don't really know what to tell them when they do."

"Where were you walking?"

"A little to the north," she said vaguely. She looked back at the Italian immortal. "There's a farmer's market east of here. They were setting up for it when I was going through. I was thinking of going back later. We don't have a lot in the fridge."

He nodded. "I was going to go to the grocery store today," he told her, tying his shoes.

"Want us to get the vegetables?"

He hesitated. "I want him relaxing," he said, pointing to Billy.

"Farmer's markets aren't that strenuous," she pointed out, herding him towards the door. "He's going to be fine. See you in a while." She shut the door in his face before he could object.

~MB~

Scatty waited until she heard the car back out of the garage and into the street before she wandered back into the living room. "Are you going to stay like that all day?" she asked the other American, climbing over the couch and settling with her feet touching each other.

Billy looked at her, all wide eyes and a mouth full of chocolate. "I think so," was his muffled response. He swallowed. "Mac wants me to. And it's very comfy. I'm happy."

"Yeah, you look it," she huffed.

"Join me," he called to her. She shook her head. He shifted over and patted the cushion beside him. "There's room!" he cajoled.

"I don't know what you're keeping under that blanket," she called back. She walked around, opening the curtains in the windows.

"Think I have a hard on for my brownies?" he asked her archly. "Just sit down for a second," he begged. "I want to talk to you."

Intrigued, she came around. He pulled back the blankets, exposing the unoccupied half of the chair. She sighed, but eased her way onto the chair beside her.

"Here," he said, tossing the blanket over her as best he could and accidentally elbowing her in the face in the process. "Sorry. But aren't you comfy?" In his lap, the bowl of ice cream teetered dangerously and she snatched it up before it went over the side.

"It is snug," she allowed, scooping up half the brownie with her spoon. "What do you want to talk about?" she asked without swallowing.

Billy stole the spoon back. "Mac," he said thickly. "And you might not want to share food with me, cause I think I might actually be getting a cold. Just don't tell Mac, I told him I never get sick."

"I have better immunity than you and skinny bones. What do you want to talk about?"

"Well, last night, Machiavelli woke me up. He was…" Billy coughed delicately. "Never mind. He fell asleep afterwards again, but I was thinking about…" Again he stopped. The conversation didn't seem to be going as smoothly as he'd hoped; he made a face. He grumbled, glancing at the wall and lights flickering from leaves outside their apartment. "I think about Mac a lot," he admitted at last. "I was thinking about that girl that he brought home last night. I don't know, makes me feel funny."

Even though Scatty knew the basis of the conversation, she felt a nervous explosion in her stomach. At this point, she was equally attached to both men, and knowing that they were fundamentally wanting different things was beginning to make her feel a little queasy. "Upset about that first night?" she asked, nonchalantly.

Billy hesitated. "No…" He squirmed, fitting into her side. "…A little."

"Oh, yeah?" She was surprised. Really, she hadn't expected him to confide in her about this particular topic. "Why? Niccolo's an adult."

He shifted. "I know. I don't really know why." He looked away from her. "You guys made this room look nice."

"That was all Niccolo's doing." She zeroed in on what Billy was avoiding. "You don't want our Italian friend having sex," she accused him.

"I have no control over his sex life," Billy said, seeming to firmly regret starting this conversation. She waited. "I just never thought that he would have sex with someone else…"

She arched an eyebrow. "His body's age has been literally cut in half and he's a gorgeous Italian. What'd you think he was going to do, join a monastery?" The Kid ducked his head. They continued to bicker back and forth, Billy avoiding this issues and Scatty trying to bring them to the forefront.

Finally, Billy caved under her needling. "Fine! I don't want him having sex. I don't know why! I just don't."

Scatty laid back, feeling victorious. "Well, as long as we have our current sleeping arrangements, it's going to be hard for either of you to bring back a person."

"I don't want to have sex either," he said, blushing furiously. She looked at him in surprise, a question on her lips. "I mean, I enjoy sex," he explained hastily. "I just… don't… look, you can have a lot of meaningless sex and it makes you feel bad after a while. Even if you feel good. I could change my mind sometime, but for now…"

"Well, I'll stick around for a while and we'll cock block Niccolo- who would have thought we'd be doing this- and maybe you'll figure out why you feel the way you do," she said at last, hoping that the outlaw would be able to connect the dots himself. _Machiavelli should have a lot more hope than he does,_ she reflected.

He rested his head on her shoulder. The intimacy felt strange to her; she still wasn't used to how physical both Billy and Niccolo were. For many years now, she'd been closest with Nicholas, but neither him nor her were exactly the embracing type.

"I wish I hadn't seen Machiavelli with that girl," Billy confessed. _He's still thinking about it._ His neck was still red where the flush hadn't faded. He glanced over at the Shadow.

Scatty didn't really know what to tell him. "I didn't really see what was going on. Was he in the middle of-?" She made an obscene gesture with her hands, feeling curious despite herself. Machiavelli was her friend, yes, but he was her gorgeous, complicated Italian friend, it wasn't like it was with Joan where she preferred to know less.

"No, but close to it. I- I saw an eyeful."

"But you've probably seen him nude before."

He squinted, holding out his hand and rocking it back and forth. "Not since he was little- this sounds wrong- I tried to give him more privacy when he started to get his adult body back." He made a motion with his hand. "I saw a lot of her too."

"I'm not interested in her." Scatty said dismissively. "Tell me about Machiavelli. Does he have a big dick?"

"Scatty!" He covered his head with the blanket.

She pulled it off again. "What? These are things a girl likes to know."

"He's our friend." Billy looked horrified. Scatty had to bite the inside of her cheek; apparently, she had crossed a line.

"Women don't have boundaries when it comes to friends," she lectured him. "He tells me about you," she lied through her teeth.

"No, he doesn't. He hasn't seen me or my- well this morning, but- I'm rarely naked in front of him," Billy argued. He looked worried though. "Does he?"

"That's for me to know." She poked him in the side. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Length, girth, size, color, circumcision. Does he hang to the left or the right? Balls?" she asked gleefully. Now she was just having fun making Billy squirm.

"Balls aren't optional," the Kid told her. He tried to get out of the recliner, but she leaned back all the way and he didn't have the leverage nor the strength to counter her. "You're not playing fair, I'm a cripple."

"Give me one detail and I'll leave you alone."

"He hangs to the right."

"No, he doesn't."

Billy turned on his side. "How could you possibly know that?" She laughed. "You're just playing me aren't you?"

She shook her head, wheezing. "I told you, I've seen him naked.

"Hmm, I don't like this," he complained, looking over at her. "You're just kidding me, aren't you? Say that you're kidding," he begged her.

"Why don't you call him up and ask?" she suggested gleefully. "Come on, one detail."

"If you've seen him naked, why do you need me telling you these things?" he asked shrewdly.

She shrugged. "I only got a quick glance."

"Well, so did I!" She raised an eyebrow expectantly. He sighed, defeated. "He's a shower, not a grower."

"What are you?"

"This wasn't part of our deal," he yelped. He shook his head at her, grinning at him. "No," he said sternly. She was still smiling at him and he couldn't help it; he smiled too. Quickly, he smoothed this over with a frown but at last she managed to get him to laugh and once he started, he couldn't stop for a long time. "I'm a grower," he admitted finally, still laughing a little.

"Sounds like Mac is back," he said finally, hiccupping slightly.

They could hear the crank of the garage door sliding shut, then the tell-tale sounds of the fridge opening and closing. Machiavelli's footsteps sounded on the stairs after a little while (he must have been putting the groceries away), and finally, he appeared again.

"You two look cozy," the Italian commented, entering the room through the dining room.

"Billy talked me into this." Scatty felt inclined to defend herself, aware that she was stretched out, practically on top of the man that Niccolo loved.

"I'm glad you kept him inside," he said in his mild way. Approaching them, he put the bag he'd been carrying down. "I got you some more ice cream," the Italian said shyly, addressing the outlaw specifically. "Rocky Road."

"That's one of my favorites," Billy said sleepily.

"I know."

Watching them, Scatty felt like she was intruding on something private. Machiavelli couldn't know it, but whenever he looked at Billy, there was something intensely vulnerable about him; she didn't know why the Kid didn't pick up on it. _Perhaps Billy thinks that Niccolo looks at everyone like that._

"I'm going to run over to the farmer's market and get some of the vegetables. Stay here, Billy," she ordered, wanting them to have time alone together.

"Okay," he called, looking fragile.

Before she left, Scatty could see Machiavelli settling down beside Billy, leaning close so that they could talk. She heard the gentle murmur of their conversation before she shut the door.

"Have you called Black Hawk yet?" Machiavelli asked Billy curiously, not wanting to sound like he was nagging the other immortal but also desperately wanting to know how much more time they had before the Native American and the rest of Billy's brash companions stormed their quiet little home.

"I didn't, sorry Mac," Billy said, sitting up. He grabbed his phone. "I'll call now," he promised, beginning to dial."

"There's no rush, I was only wondering," Machiavelli interceded mildly, but Billy shook his head, putting the phone to his ear.

"It's late enough now, they should be up… Hey! What's wrong with you, old man?" Billy shouted into the phone, grinning wildly. Leaning on his elbows, Machiavelli couldn't help but grin himself, hearing the Kid's side of the conversation. "…Well listen, we just wanted to see when you guys might be coming," Billy said at last. "Like to make some preparations and such, especially food wise…." Whatever Black Hawk said next made Billy laugh. "Okay. Okay. Yeah, I understand. Okay, I'll let them know. Bye, guy."

"Black Hawk thinks they'll be up here by tomorrow," Billy told the Italian, hitting the red button to end the call. He slipped his phone into his pocket.

"Really? We should make arrangements," Machiavelli said, immediately getting to his feet.

Billy snagged his suit jacket before he could get far. Struggling to his feet himself, the Kid pushed his way out of the cocoon he'd been entangled in. "There's no rush, Mac," he said at last, carefully stepping out from the blankets. "We'll figure everything out in due time," he said patiently. "Why don't we start making our pie instead. We can discuss the sleeping arrangement when Scatty gets back."

"Fine," Machiavelli agreed reluctantly, trotting down the stairs after the outlaw. "Did Black Hawk say who was coming up?"

"Just him and my friend Fred will be staying here. The others are staying at some place on the other side of town."

"Well, that's more doable at least." Machiavelli hung up his jacket on the coat rack and began to roll up his sleeves. "Am I going to make a mess of myself, Billy?"

"You might… here," Billy said, getting up again. He pulled an apron out of the closet, awkwardly draping it over Machiavelli's head. "You're going to have to tie it on your own, I'm afraid," he said, patting the other immortal's shoulder. "I'll get the apples from the other room."

Tying the apron around his waist, Machiavelli followed after him. "I can't imagine you ever using an apron," he commented. "You've never seemed to care if you were dirty or not."

"That's cause I'm a dirty boy," Billy joked. Hooking his arm through the bags of apples, he pivoted gracefully. Machiavelli was glad it was dark in the room; he couldn't be sure what his expression betrayed. "Only joking, of course." Coming back, the outlaw gave his Italian friend a megawatt smile.

"Alright, tell me what to do," Machiavelli told Billy, ceding whatever amount of authority he had left over to the Kid. Billy had him peeling the apples. Occasionally, the American would try to help, but couldn't really. Machiavelli was secretly glad when the younger immortal gave up on trying at last; instead, Billy sat on the stool next to him and popped pieces of apple in his mouth whenever he thought Niccolo wasn't looking.

"I saw that," Machiavelli finally said after Billy ate his twentieth piece.

Billy gave him a wide eyed innocent look, which was somewhat ruined by the chunk of apple clenched between his front teeth. Swallowing, he maintained his innocence. "Saw what? I didn't see anything…"

The next time Billy reached for the bowl, Machiavelli smacked his hand with the spoon. The Kid yipped, sucking on his fingers in silent protest. "Don't give me that look."

"You hit my hand. I'm broken as it is, Mac."

"If you keep eating all the apples, we're not so much going to be eating an apple pie as a solitary apple turnover…"

"Would that really be so bad?" Billy asked earnestly.

"Want me to hit you with the spoon again?" The outlaw shook his head, and, turning so that Billy couldn't see the his little grin, Machiavelli smoothed his features over. He looked back at the American immortal. "I'm sorry, Billy," he said with a laugh. "I shouldn't have hit you with the spoon. You can have as much of the apple filling as you want."

"I just want another spoonful. Have you tried it? Take a bite," Billy offered. He put his spoon in front of Machiavelli's face, his eyes crinkling with pure joy. "You're my favorite guy in the whole world, Mac."


	41. Chapter 41

"Smile."

"Oh, what are you doing?" Billy asked. He blinked heavily in the early morning light.

Scatty tossed him his phone. "Getting a picture of the two of you before all hell breaks loose."

Billy opened the picture and glanced at it. He half smiled. "Good likeness of us, huh, Mac?" He prodded the Italian, who sleepily turned over towards him, looked like he was going to look at the picture, then promptly fell asleep again. "Ah, he's sleepy." Billy rubbed his arm, sitting up himself now. "Let's go upstairs," he whispered.

"Okay."

He looked around the room. "I'll meet you up there. I want to put on a pair of pants," he rasped. She nodded.

Minutes later, Billy climbed the stair, tapped on the door of his old bedroom and peeked in. Scatty waved him in, looking up from his laptop. "I wondered where my computer went," he said, pointing to the bed to ask her if he could sit down with her.

She gestured to the spot next to her. "Want it back?"

"No," he said cheerfully. "Just didn't know where I'd put it. Thought I lost it again."

"Again? How often do you lose your computer?" Finishing what she was typing, she shut the computer down before setting it aside. She raised an eyebrow at him. "Mr. Machiavelli wouldn't approve of that," she said, leaning back against her pile of pillows.

He flopped on his side. "I didn't lose it before," he explained with a grin. "I'd just found it again last night. Are you the one watching all the porn?" He looked at her with bright curiosity.

"What kind of porn?" she asked, making him laugh. "Not me, no. Is it recent?"

"Couple of weeks ago on the internet's history."

"It was probably Niccolo then. He really had to battle to get his hormones in check, especially after he found-," she stopped short, but Billy who had been grinning, was now looking at her with keen interest. "Nothing, he didn't find anything."

"Scatty, I'm not that stupid, that I'm going to fall for that. Found what? What'd he find?"

"Really, nothing," she said hastily, but the outlaw wasn't at all convinced. "Okay, fine, but don't give him a hard time. He found some of your old magazines in the desk across the hall and- Billy, where are you going?"

"Just want to check on something," he said, doubling back. He opened his mouth, perhaps to explain, and mouthed for a minute. "I'd forgotten the magazines were there." He disappeared across the hall momentarily, coming back a few minutes later. He looked a little embarrassed and also a little distracted. "Those magazines aren't recent."

"I figured that, Billy. Sit down again. I want to talk about Niccolo for a minute before he wakes up, and before the guys get here."

"Sure," he agreed, sitting down again. "But hey, Scatty?" She nodded. "Was there anything else in with the magazines?"

"Like what?" she asked, forcing curiosity into her voice.

"Nothing, nothing," he said hastily. "I've been looking for an old book of mine… What did you want to talk about?"

"What's in the book?" she asked, wanting to sound like she didn't already know and also curious as to whether Billy would tell her the truth. "Your collection of nudes?" He blanched. "You're blushing."

Billy touched his cheek and shrugged. "I don't- You're a lady. I don't usually talk about this kind of thing with…" He made a face.

Scatty scooted over to where he was standing. "Billy Bonney, you still are half in the 19th century," she accused, sounding faintly amused.

He shrugged. "It's not wrong to want to treat the women in your life with some respect. My mother wouldn't want…" He coughed into his elbow and groaned, rubbing at his temples.

"You're getting a cold," she told him.

"I know…" He ground his palms into his eyes. "You wanted to talk about Mac?"

"Yeah," she agreed, her joking nature aside. She hesitated. "I wanted to tell you to be gentle with him. I know you are," she said before he could interrupt her. "But he loves you so much and now that he's getting older, back to his usual self, I don't want him getting hurt."

"I'd never hurt, Mac!" Billy protested. "Do you think I hurt him?"

She thought before speaking and that pause was enough to make him anxious. "No, you'd never hurt him on purpose, but I want to make sure that you figure out a way to make things balance, you know with the stuff we were talking about yesterday… You might not be able to be as physically affectionate in the next few weeks as you want to be, but you don't have to be cold either…"

He nodded. "You'll let me know if I do something wrong, won't you Scatty?"

"Course, I'll be all up in your business… Well, here, I can help you at least temporarily with your cold," she told him, pressing her palm to his forehead. She let her aura spill out, wrapping around him. Letting go, she sat back on her haunches. "Feel better?"

"Yeah, what'd you do?" He shook his head like a dog shaking off water.

"Something I learned in Scotland a long time ago… it's a temporary fix, your body will eventually have to process its cold like anyone else. But that might buy you a day." She surprised him by wrapping her arms around his torso, laying her head on his chest. He hugged her back.

"I feel a lot better now, thanks."

Scatty let go of him, leaning back and settling with her legs crossed. "Want to do something nice for Niccolo with me?"

"Always. What are we doing?"

She nodded at his sleepy figure. "Let's make breakfast for him. We can wake him up after."

Billy swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "Scatty…" She sighed, but grabbed his sweatshirt off the ground. "You're a dear," he told her, doing his best to help her get the garment on. "On the bright side, I managed to put pants on myself today."

"What was that banging sound I heard last night?" she asked him, leading the way downstairs.

"I was taking a leak," he said ruefully. "I walked into that little table in the hallway and knocked it over. I really feel like my balance is off these days."

"Did you get hit in the head?"

"No, I think it's just my cold. I've been feeling a little faint, lately."

They rounded the last set of stairs. "I thought you never got colds. I remember you giving Machiavelli a hard time over the summer about it."

"I wasn't giving him a hard time," Billy laughed. "I merely pointed out that he gets sick more than you'd expect an immortal to." He sneezed, loud. "He's never going to let me live this down though, now…"

"Hmm." Scatty looked around the kitchen. "What do we have that Niccolo likes to eat for breakfast?"

"He eats very light in the morning, usually coffee, some toast and jam, and fruit. Sometimes yogurt. We can't make yogurt look fancy. Let's ditch it." Billy took the kettle out of the cupboard. "I can heat up the water. I can't really cut up the bread or fruit though."

"I'll do that. What are you going to have?"

"You'll probably have fruit too, huh? I guess I don't need bacon." He tugged the loaf of Italian bread off the top of the fridge. "When we give him the bread we're going to tell him the loaf was pre-sliced, okay?"

"Why?"

"I might have told him that I use my bread knife to cut trees," he mumbled. Setting the kettle onto the stove, he lit the gas. "This isn't going to take long to put together," he said, pulling out the carton of strawberries." He struggled fruitlessly to cut off the green tops with his left hand.

"You're not doing so well," she observed, taking over the task. "Put the bread in the toaster and push down."

"I can do that." He trotted around the island. "Want me to go start waking up Mac?" She nodded. "I'll tell him we're bringing breakfast up to our bedroom."

Climbing the stairs, he paused on the first floor, out of sight of the Shadow. He leaned dizzily on the wall of the hallway, catching his breath. He coughed slightly, closing his eyes. Giving himself a little shake, he began climbing up the next flight. "Phew," he sighed. "Getting winded."

Entering the Italian's room, he went to ruthlessly open the shades, then decided to be good instead. Settling on the edge of the bed, he tapped Machiavelli gently. "Mac. Mac, wake up," he murmured.

"Go away."

"Mac, we're bringing you food." He shook the Italian's shoulder a little. Machiavelli murmured incoherently and turned over a little. Sighing, Billy pushed him over so that he was on his back. Only then, did the tactician open his eyes. "I'm sorry, honey, but it's 10:00. Soon it'll be time for lunch."

Niccolo sniffed and rubbed roughly at his eyes. "You made breakfast?" he asked eventually. "What'd you make?"

"Well, to be honest, I just popped the toast down and put the water on to boil. Scatty's downstairs doing most of the work," Billy admitted. "It was her idea. She really must love you, Mac."

Machiavelli sat up, the blankets slipping down off his shoulders and pooling around his waist. "Think so?" he asked, his voice mild and thoughtful as he rotated the kinks out of his neck. "I thought maybe you were doing it cause you loved me," he joked, leaning his back against the headboard.

Billy gazed at him, steady eyes and a small smile. "I do love you," he said agreeably. "That's why I'm not going to lie to you. I was going to before, but not now. We cut the bread with the Christmas tree knife."

"I had a feeling you did," Machiavelli accepted without argument.

Billy sneezed. He swore a little, getting up for a tissue. "It should be ready soon."

"Are you coming down with a cold?" Machiavelli asked, watching him blot at his nose with the tissue.

Billy shook his head, threw out the tissue he'd been holding, and grabbed another one. "I've just been sneezing a little. It's nothing." He threw out the other tissue and smiled over at the Italian. "See? Healthy as can be…" His stomach rumbled. "I'm hungry," he admitted. "I should go help Scatty…"

"It's coming up now," she said, stalking into their room. She stopped to glance back into the hall. "That lift moves very slow."

"To be fair, it's almost 80 years old. Can I help you with anything Scatty?" he asked eagerly.

"You can get the food out of the dumbwaiter," she said. "Oh, wait…" He shook his head, ruefully. "Well, you can get… just get in bed. You big dummy, messing up your arm."

"I think she really likes me," Billy told the Italian.

"She prefers me," Machiavelli said, trying to get out of bed to help the Shadow.

"Mm, mm, sit," she ordered, handing him a plate. "Billy says you like your coffee with milk. But only in the morning?"

"Yes, the rest of the time, I drink it black."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "That's just how I've been. I don't know."

She sat down at last, grabbing her bowl of fruit. "Well, lucky for you, Billy's been paying attention to your breakfast order apparently. He knew exactly what you wanted."

"I do appreciate it," Machiavelli told the Kid, starting to wake up a little more with the promise of food before him. "You did a good job, too, Scatty. It was very nice of you to do this for me."

"I'm going to take a shower before this house is full of men," Scatty said at last, getting up. She threw the last scrap of her toast in their trash bin before sauntering off towards the stairwell.

"Mac, can I ask you something?" Machiavelli nodded tiredly. "Why'd Scatty kiss you the other day?"

He blinked, not remembering what Billy was asking about. Shaking his head, he remembered- the morning they'd gone hiking. "I just said something nice to her, that's all. It was just a friendly kiss," he said again.

"Oh. Are you sure you're not in love with Scatty?"

The Italian immortal choked on his coffee and coughed. "I love Scatty. I'm not in love with her," he clarified, feeling like they were on a bad talk show. "Really," he added because Billy still looked unsure.

"Is she in love with you then? Do you think you'll ever love again?"

Machiavelli lowered his cup thoughtfully. "I don't think she's in love with me, no. And sure, never in the same way as my wife, but I'd like to think I have the ability to love… like I said, I love Scatty and I love you…" Getting up, he busied himself by getting dressed. He tossed a light gray suit onto the bed and found a white button down shirt.

Billy seemed pleased with his answer. The outlaw sat at the end of the bed, drawing up his legs in front of him. "Mac? Can you check my arm again?"

"Sure. How long has it been since we last changed the wrapping on your arm? Three days?" Machiavelli wondered, carefully undoing the top bandage. He tried to move slowly, knowing that this was the spot that was really going to pull on Billy's skin, but he could tell it was still fairly painful.

"Scatty cleaned it the other day. God that stings," the Kid hissed through clenched teeth.

"Scusami tato, I'm trying not to hurt you."

"It's okay, I know that. Thank god it's over," he sighed when they'd gotten the length of surgical tape off at last.

"Indeed," Machiavelli agreed, winding up the tape into a ball and tossing it on the ground in an uncharacteristic move of laziness. "Pulling off the gauze might still hurt though, be careful. There," he said, moving gently. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"No, thanks, Mac. Look, it's almost all healed up, don't you think?"

"It does look much better than the other day, but then again, I thought I might throw up when I saw it the other day, so that doesn't say much…" He swabbed it with the ointment again, holding Billy's hand in his.

They both jumped when the doorbell rang, comfortable in their togetherness. Getting up, his arm still hanging unbandaged, Billy glanced through their window. "That's Black Hawk," he said, heading for the stairs.

Grabbing the gauze and bandages, Machiavelli followed behind him. The Kid threw open their front door. "Hey!"

"You kept me waiting," Black Hawk accused good naturedly, entering immediately. Halfway down the stairs, Machiavelli paused. Seeing him, the Native American grinned. "The man of the hour, from what Billy says," he greeted the tall immortal.

Coming all the way down, Machiavelli shook his hand. "What does Billy say?" he asked mildly, wondering in his head if the American immortal had broken his promise, perhaps accidentally, about what had happened the night he'd come back.

"Well, nothing specific, but you should have heard him talk while we were traipsing about the country. I tried to tell him you weren't a kid anymore…" Machiavelli caught the trace of a frown on Billy's face but he thought the other two men must have missed it; they hadn't been watching the Kid. Putting a hand on Machiavelli's shoulder, Black Hawk guided him forward. "Want you to meet someone. This is Fred Waite. Fred, meet Niccolo Machiavelli."

Machiavelli shook the Chickasaw cowboy's hand, realizing this was one of Billy's oldest friends, that the American immortal had known this man since even before Black Hawk. Fred Waite was taller than Billy, but shorter than him and Black Hawk, thin but still somehow muscular. He was in his forties, Machiavelli remembered, but he still retained a youthful look somehow. "Billy told me how you saved him," Fred said in a low, soft voice. "I must thank you; I would have been devastated to find out he was gone."

"He's a good man," Niccolo explained. "I had only just met him a few days before but…" There was something understanding in the way Fred Waite was looking at him which disarmed Machiavelli. He looked over the man's shoulder to where Billy was watching him, a small smile curving his lips. He smiled back, feeling a rush of confidence. "I knew I had to save Billy."

"Where's Scatty?" Black Hawk interrupted, tossing his suitcase towards the sofa.

"She's in the shower. Come into the living room," Billy coaxed. "Machiavelli's helping me bandage up the arm you mangled."

"I think this makes us even for the skiing incident," Black Hawk told him, wandering into the different rooms. "You've cleaned this place up a lot," he called.

"That was all Scatty and Mac," Billy called back. Fred sat with them in the living room, taking Billy's arm with gentleness the Italian immortal hadn't necessarily expected and looked it over carefully. "Looks better, don't it?" Billy asked him.

"Much."

"Here's Scatty," Machiavelli said, glad to see the female immortal again. Billy introduced her to his friend while the Italian immortal worked over his bandages. Black Hawk wandered upstairs with the intention of looking over what 'they had done to the old place' in his words. Billy waved him on.

Coming back the Native American immortal seemed to fill the entire doorway with his size. "Place looks nice, but I forgot how goddamn small it is. How are we going to fit everyone in?" Black Hawk wondered.

Billy looked around groggily. He'd gotten quiet the last few minutes, leaning into the couch. "We'll find a way," he decided cheerfully. He rubbed the crust out of his eyes and tapped the side of his face. "Mm… let's see. Good thing we got the extra bed, huh, Mac?"

Machiavelli nodded idly. He rubbed his temple, unconsciously mimicking the Kid's actions. "Two beds only mean room for four adults though," he reminded Billy. "Unless we want to get really friendly," he said drily.

"Dibs on Machiavelli," Scatty said instantly, putting a hand on his arm.

He raised his eyebrows. "I don't think it will come to that."

"Right… we've got the futon too," Billy remembered, brightening. "I could sleep on that."

"Billy, we're not going to make you sleep on that old lumpy thing with your busted up arm," Black Hawk objected. "Even I'm not that mean to you."

"Aw, well it's not that…"

"No," Fred broke in. "Your arm was seriously injured, getting you out of that Shadowrealm. We're not going to do anything to jeopardize your return to health." He folded his hands, showing no sign of changing his mind. "I can sleep on the futon- I'm the one you didn't plan on coming back- and Black Hawk can take the couch."

"I can live with that," Black Hawk called from his spot on the couch.

"Well, this doesn't really make sense," Scatty objected.

"Scatty, we'd solved it!" Billy moaned, flopping pathetically back in the armchair. Next to him, Machiavelli shot forward, afraid the Kid was going to jam his arm in a new way. "Sorry, Mac, didn't mean to scare you."

"You have to be more careful, William, you're still injured, even if your arm is marginally better," the Italian scolded him. He settled back and looked at the Shadow. "What is your solution?"

"I'll take the futon," she said, pointing to herself. "Black Hawk and Fred can take the top bedroom. Nobody has to sleep on the couch."

"We can't do that to you anymore than we could to Billy," Black Hawk disagreed.

Scatty looked affronted. "I'm not injured. I hardly even sleep as it is. I'll be fine."

Machiavelli traced his fine lips with his fingertip. He raised one finger, somehow effectively quieting the entire room in the way that only he seemed to be able to command. "We could get another one of those mattress toppers to put on the futon," he suggested. "That would make it more habitable. You're comfortable sleeping in the same room as Billy and I, I assume?"

She blinked. "Of course."

"Well then, I think we should go with her plan. It seems the most efficient." She smiled at him.

"That was very complicated," Billy said sleepily.

"Billy, tato, are you alright?" Machiavelli questioned. The American seemed overly tired, especially considering it wasn't even noon yet. ' _Why had he gotten up so early this morning?_ ' he wondered. "Are you sleeping at all?"

Billy looked surprised to be the center of attention suddenly. He blinked a little. "Am I alright?" he repeated, mumbling. "Sure… I'm just a little tired, is all."

"Are you sleeping?" Black Hawk repeated the Italian's question.

"Mm… a little." Again, Billy scrubbed at his face. "It's just uncomfortable sleeping, with my arm and all," he lied. Straightening up in his seat, he tried to look more active. "We should get another one of those pads then," he said, getting out of his seat. "I'll get dressed and get my keys."

"No." It was hard to say which immortal objected the loudest. Billy's face fell.

Black Hawk lumbered to his feet. "You can't drive," he said firmly.

"Are you going to get the thing then?"

"Yes."

"I'll go with you." Machiavelli surprised them all by getting to his feet. He looked around the room uncertainly. "Unless you wish to go alone?"

"No," Black Hawk said after a pause. "I could use your help finding the right thing. You got the first one, didn't you?"

"I did," the Italian acknowledged. He grabbed up his suit coat, fixing it so that it fell straight on his torso. "I just want to get out. We've been inside for a couple of days now."

"If I stay in the passenger seat, can I come to?" Billy pleaded. "I've been stuck inside too," he said mournfully, grabbing a pair of jeans out of the laundry basket which had been left in the hall. He pulled a sweater on over the shirt he'd slept in and gave Machiavelli a smile.

"Fine," Machiavelli relented. "You do seem better than you…"

Billy winked at Scatty before he trotted out the door after the other two immortals. He followed Niccolo into the backseat of Black Hawk's Jeep, seemingly impervious to the questioning look his brash friend gave him. "Guess what? While we were hunting Quetzalcoatl, Scatty got Niccolo to go to a couple of nightclubs. They went with Billie."

"My Billie?" Billy nodded, leaning forward as Black Hawk revved the engine. "I'd like to see you at a club," Black Hawk told Machiavelli, meeting his eyes in the rear view mirror. "I can't imagine you drunk," he added, laughing.

"I don't get drunk very often," Machiavelli said smoothly, wondering if Billy was going to call him on that statement. The American immortal didn't however, apparently having something else on his mind.

"If I rest all afternoon, can we go to a club tonight?"

"Why are you asking him?" Black Hawk said, laughing. "He's not your parent. Let's go to a club." He turned where Machiavelli told him to.

Billy glanced over at his Italian companion. "Mac makes much better decisions than I do," he said earnestly. "I trust him to make them for me."

"We could go to a club," Niccolo agreed, feeling that he had kept Billy cooped up for some time now.

Billy punched his fist in the air, letting out a happy whoop. "We should give Billie a call," he yelled up to the front seat, laughing. Machiavelli felt he'd made the right decision, seeing how lively the Kid looked just now. The idea of nightclubs didn't completely appeal to him, but that was okay so long as Billy was happy…


	42. Chapter 42

"Are you going to make sure Machiavelli doesn't get any girls tonight?" Scatty teased Billy.

His neck turned slightly pink. "Of course not. Why would I?" But he refused to look her in the eye.

"So you'd be fine if we get bumped to the living room, temporarily?"

"Mac wouldn't do that," he protested. "Besides, we're celebrating with him, he won't want to split off from our group."

"Sure," she agreed, taking pity on him. "Well, I'm going to stick with him. No offense, but I don't know what to expect from your friends. They seem kind of loud."

"Well, the good thing is that Fred's pretty quiet and he's the only besides Black Hawk who will be staying with us. I was worried that Jesse was going to want to stay too, but he's got something set up with a guy we know on the west side."

"Do you want me to roll up your sleeves?" she asked, knowing he usually would push up the sleeves of his sweater. He nodded thankfully. "You look so different when you wear button downs," she commented. "Billy, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Why am I doing this? Wouldn't you be more comfortable with Niccolo?" She looked him in the eyes.

To his credit, he didn't look away this time. He shrugged with his one arm. "I'm comfortable with you," he told her.

"Billy, you're avoiding the issue."

"I just… I don't know what's going on right now," he pleaded with her. He stepped away quickly and sneezed into his arm. "Oh, sorry. Ah," he moaned, clutching his ribs. There was a knock on the door. "Come in," the Kid called, rubbing at his chest.

"I was just seeing how you guys were doing," Machiavelli explained, edging in. "What's wrong with your ribs?"

"Just a loud sneeze, it's nothing." Billy held out his arms. "How do I look?"

"Handsome as always," Machiavelli told him smoothly.

"Ah, well thanks," Billy said, ducking his head. He came around the bed, throwing an arm over Machiavelli's shoulder. "Planning on having fun tonight?"

The Italian nodded. "I'll enjoy it more with both of you here tonight," he said thoughtfully, letting Scatty exit before them. He turned off the light. "Billie's here."

"Black Hawk must have called her. I mentioned to him that he should." Billy patted his pockets. "I forgot my keys." He turned around again. "Help me look?" he asked Machiavelli.

"Of course."

"I'll be waiting downstairs," Scatty told them.

Flicking the light back on, Machiavelli opened the drawers on Billy's side, beginning to search through a myriad collection of items. He was stopped by the American immortal, who held up his key ring and gave it a little rattle. "You have your keys?"

"I had them the whole time," Billy confessed. "I just wanted to make sure you wanted to go to the club tonight-? Cause if you don't want to, I'd understand…"

Niccolo gave him a searching look, wondering inwardly what the American immortal's true intentions were. "I think we'll have fun tonight, don't you? I wish Black Hawk had found out about my drinking," he allowed, recalling the slip of tongue from the early afternoon and wincing a little, "but still, what could go wrong?" He looked over at the outlaw. "Are you sure you're feeling alright though, Billy?" he asked anxiously. "Cause you don't look… as wonderful as you usually do."

That made Billy laugh. "No, I'm okay, really." He felt like he was having trouble controlling the temperature of his body, but kept that to himself. He got distracted by the presence of all the people in his living room and wandered off in their general direction.

Machiavelli joined Scatty by the window, surprised to find her sitting on the window seat with Billie Holiday who he greeted. "What was that about?" the Shadow muttered to him, indicating that she'd already filled the jazz singer in.

"He wanted to make sure I wanted to go," he said back quietly. "I don't know why, yet."

"Okay, well we're trying a new tactic now," Scatty told him.

Machiavelli blinked. "Were we trying an old tactic before?"

She smacked him. "Listen up. We're going to make Billy jealous. That requires some work from you, and if all else fails, some work from me too. Are you on board?"

"How on Earth are we going to make Billy jealous?" Machiavelli scoffed. He yelped when she smacked him again. Rubbing his arm, he changed direction. "Okay, okay, we're making him jealous. I agree… I guess. I still want to know how you plan on doing this?"

"We've got a plan," Billie broke in, motioning to the other female immortal and back to herself.

"I feel like I'm going to regret this, but alright, you do what you feel you must," he agreed. Sitting beside them, he looked at the room with interest.

Billy was talking to a rather pugnacious looking man, actually shorter than the Kid, with sharp features, bright eyes, and a nose which looked like it had been broken at least once. "That's Jesse James," he said quietly to the Shadow, who nodded. "I'm not sure how much Billy really likes him…"

"I think Billy likes him a lot less than he puts on."

"I don't like him at all," Billie said surprising them. "That's why I'm over here with you, Black Hawk doesn't understand."

"Why don't-?" Machiavelli began to ask, but at that moment their group began to head out and he was cut off in the commotion of it all. Shrugging, he touched down to the floor again, helping both women up.

~MB~

"Are you going to drink tonight?" Black Hawk asked Machiavelli, nudging him.

Machiavelli was surprised that the burly immortal had made his way to the back of the group where he and Scatty were talking and even more so that the Native American immortal cared at all. "Just non-alcoholics is the plan."

"Nah, don't do that. I want to see you drunk," Black Hawk teased, throwing a heavy arm on Machiavelli's shoulder.

"Why?"

"I think it would be a lot of fun," was the answer given.

"Well, sorry to disappoint you, but I've already consumed more alcohol in the past month or so than I usually have in a year, so I think it's time to start cutting back."

"I wasn't going to drink either," Billy commented, turning around and walking backward so that he could look at them. Coming up beside him, Scatty groaned and turned him right side around again before he fell or injured himself. Wrapping his hand around the Shadow's, he continued to talk, looking over his shoulder. "I don't normally drink at all really."

"I have a glass of wine on a semi-regular basis, but I don't usually go to bars," Machiavelli murmured thoughtfully. Clapping him on the back (Machiavelli winced slightly), Black Hawk grabbed Billie Holiday's hand and dragged her back to the front. "Do you think I should drink tonight?" Niccolo asked Billy quietly.

"No," he said immediately. He didn't want Machiavelli losing his inhibitions tonight; he wanted the Italian immortal to be his normal, careful self. But he realized how sudden his answer had been. "I just think that if you don't want to drink, you shouldn't have to," he explained himself hastily.

"Well, if you're not planning on drinking, then I won't feel like such an outlier."

Billy hadn't been planning on drinking much that night, but after seeing Machiavelli snag a girl within minutes of them entering the club, he decided he might need some liquid courage at this point. He ordered a double Scotch and consumed it quickly before leaving the glass at the bar and entering the dance floor himself.

He was surprised to see Black Hawk talking with the bartender and backtracked, but by the time he made it through the throng of people which had closed in around him, Black Hawk was coming back toward him anyways. He gave a little wave and a grin, missing the guilty look the Native American had upon seeing him.

He glanced around. There was a group of 'young' kids next to him, already heavily intoxicated. As a blond, tall woman pulled up her shirt the crowd around her erupted into cheers and Billy looked away quickly. He was glad the lighting was very dark cause he didn't think it was very manly to blush in a scenario where most men would have been very much content.

He scanned the rest of the room, wandering through the crowds. A lot of women smiled at him, he'd always been lucky with women, but now he looked back at them politely, but with some detachment. He grinned wistfully at Machiavelli, who was now dancing with not one, not two, but an entire group of women. The Italian took a sip of the beer in his hand; Billy noticed that the beer in Machiavelli's hand was different from his own, even though they'd both ordered non-alcoholics. He didn't put it together though, distracted by the way his companion -friend- was moving…

Niccolò chose that moment to look up and see him. He fanned his fingers in a slight wave and separated from the girls, slipping through the crowd to get to Billy. "Not bad, Obi-Wan," Billy told him, fixing a smile on his face.

"I learned from the best," Machiavelli told him seriously. He was surprised that on his first night out having fun, the American immortal was now talking to him instead of dancing with all the pretty girls on the dance floor. Finishing his first beer, he ordered another N/A. "I'm surprised these taste okay," he said, holding it up. "The non-alcholic versions sometimes have a poor taste to them… Anyways, come back with me. I told them I had a friend who was better looking than me."

"They might be disappointed when you bring me back then," Billy said as they walked back to where the girls were waiting, but his voice was lost in the crowd. _'Why did he feel warm inside?'_ He couldn't help but grin at the women when they got back to where they were. "I like your hat!" he shouted over the music to one woman, decked in a wide-brimmed cowboy hat.

She smiled at him, dancing close to him. "I like your boots," she said back. Her voice was intentionally sultry and she ground into him. They did their best to make small talk in between songs, though she seemed interested in a lot more than that and he felt decidedly less interested.

Paige, she introduced herself as, during one of the dips in the volume. Billy was naturally charismatic, but found that following the normal cursory introductions they didn't have much to say. He ordered two more beers, abandoning his resolution entirely, in the spans of a half an hour, which made him a little bit looser. Finally, an hour after they'd entered the club, Billy was drunk enough to stop thinking too much and have a good time.

The alcohol was significantly lowering his inhibitions. At the end of the second hour, Machiavelli seemed to be having a good time, so he decided he could afford to let loose a little too. Paige had drifted over to other men, losing interest in him when it became clear that he was not after a hookup. That was okay with the Kid; he'd found her a little overbearing. These days he just wanted a couple of deep relationships, not hundreds of inconsequential ones.

Eventually he got tired of the club though. Making his way into the crowd, he was pleased to find Black Hawk and Billie, even if they were dancing in a rather vulgar fashion. "Hey," he slurred, grinning at the jazz singer. "Mac's having quite the time with the ladies."

"He must be pretty confident off the beer," Black Hawk said with a grin.

"He's not drinking alcohol," Billy corrected him. They were able to talk more normally as the song finally faded into oblivion.

"Yeah, about that…"

The observation from before, the connection he'd missed, it suddenly clicked into place at that moment. He gave the Native American immortal a warning look. "What did you do!" Billy shouted, partially because he had a feeling he about to hear something that would make him angry, and partially because a real head banger of a band got on the stage at that moment.

Black Hawk did look sheepish. "I paid the bartender to swap out the non-alcoholics for regular beers. It's okay though," he said quickly cause Billy was opening his mouth furiously. "He's under strict orders to cut Machiavelli off at four. He's not going to get super drunk off that."

"Four? Are you insane?"

"I told you it was a bad idea," Billie told Black Hawk, wandering over to a young man who'd been staring at her for a full ten minutes now. He watched her, looking somewhat jealous as Lady Day trailed her fingers over the kid's shoulders. The outlaw felt a vindictive sort of pleasure watching the jazz singer dance with someone else.

"Where's Scatty?" Billy asked Black Hawk.

"She's over with Fred," he said pointing. "Look, Billy, I do feel bad. I'll make it up to you."

Billy the Kid couldn't understand why he felt as angry as he did in that moment. He knew this was Black Hawk's idea of a prank, and it certainly hadn't been aimed at him, but Billy felt mad all the same. "I'm not the one you should be apologizing to," he said sourly, watching Machiavelli flirt with another girl.

"I'll make it up to him, too. Why are you so mad?"

Billy shrugged, hanging his head down as Machiavelli disappeared from sight. He didn't know himself. "I just don't like anyone messing with Mac. You don't understand him the way I do." He paced restlessly; this night wasn't working out very well in his opinion. "I'm going to find Scatty!" he yelled over the song.

He went looking for the Shadow, but it was Scatty that found him. "Billie said you're mad at Black Hawk," she said, pulling him to a table in the corner where the jazz singer was sitting with Fred Waite.

"A bit mad," he admitted. He found that he didn't want to tell Scatty what had happened just yet; the Shadow looked like she was actually having a lot of fun with the other two immortals and he was tempted to join them, but something held him back. "I'm looking for Niccolo," he said impulsively.

"I saw him over there just a minute ago," Fred told him, his keen hearing catching their conversation. He pointed toward the far corner.

Billy clapped him on the shoulder with a muffled thanks. "I'm going to go get him." Scooting through the crowd of people and ducking around some dancers, Billy caught up to Machiavelli at the bar. "Hey," he had to shout, leaning in to the Italians's ear.

Machiavelli lit up, seeing the Kid. Billy felt a little bit better, basking in the warmth of Machiavelli's gaze. Niccolo grabbed his hand, pulling him as far away from the dance floor as they could go. "Bring me home?" He gave the American a sloppy smile.

The Kid had a grin half frozen on his face. "Sure," he agreed. Running a hand through his hair, he looked around. "Come on, let's, uh, let's tell the girls we're leaving so they won't look for us." He began to edge toward Scatty. Noticing the Italian wasn't following him, he came back again. "Come on, Mac. Follow me."

"Ah. Sorry." Machiavelli laughed. He felt very lightheaded. He grabbed the outlaw's arm. "Look at the lights, Billy."

Billy gave the ceiling a cursory glance. "They're pretty, Mac." He opened his mouth and closed it again, giving the Italian a soft, lopsided grin. "Come on, Mac," he said again. "Just let me tell Scatty at least, and then I'll bring you home."

"Going to put me in bed?" Machiavelli asked him drunkenly. He let the shorter immortal lead him over to the Shadow.

"Yeah, I'll take care of you," Billy agreed. He gave Niccolo a little yank, finally getting him across the dance floor to Scatty, who'd watched them coming. "Hey!" he shouted over the music. "We're heading for home now! Could you tell the others?"

"Is he alright?" she asked, scrutinizing the tall Italian.

"He's been drinking all night, thinking that he had the non-alcoholic option and he hasn't. Completely drunk off his ass," Billy shouted in her ear. "Long story! Tell you tomorrow!"

"Alright, we'll be home in a couple hours probably!"

"Tell the others!" Then, with a wave, Billy grabbed Machiavelli and pulled him through the long narrow hallway and out into the starry evening. Above them the moon bounced in beaming reflections from window to window, illuminating the city in a surreal light which somehow didn't quite manage to creep all the way down to where they were standing.

"Are your ears ringing?" Machiavelli shouted in the darkness.

Billy laughed, feeling infinitely more free now that they'd left the club. "Niccolo, honey, we're outside now. There's no reason to shout." But he beamed- everything seemed funnier now.

"Oh." The Italian swayed a little on his feet and very abruptly, sat down where he'd been standing.

"Not quite home, yet, Mac," Billy said patiently, hefting the taller man to his feet again with some difficulty. "But you've got the idea. It's time for bed for you and me."

"Billy Bonney?"

"That's my name. Yes, Mac?" The outlaw guided him down the road, slipping his arm around the man's slender waist.

"I love you," Machiavelli said, leaning heavily on the American now for support. "I want- I want to- to give you a kiss. May I give you a kiss?"

Billy chuckled, hefting the other man up slightly as they walked. "You're a very affectionate drunk Mac," he told the older immortal. "Makes me want to get you drunk all the time…" He saw the look on Machiavelli's face and pulled a face, then grinned. They came to a stop under a streetlight. "Okay, okay. Lay one on me if it'll make you feel better." He turned his face and tapped his cheek.

Machiavelli touched his cheek, then tilted his face. Surprising the outlaw, he tenderly kissed him directly on the lips. Billy moved his hands, not sure where to put them now, and then, then the Italian broke the kiss. "I do love you," he repeated, sounding quite serious. He blinked and looked around. "Is this our house?"

Billy touched his lips, then held a finger out, then looked at the building Machiavelli was looking at. He tapped his lips dazedly. "No- no, that's Barnes and Noble, Mac- that's not our house…" He seemed extra flummoxed now. Putting his hand on his hip, he almost immediately took it off again.

"Oh. But isn't that the park?" Machiavelli asked, pointing at the Rittenhouse square.

"Yeah- yes?"

"Don't we live across from the park?"

Billy mouthed for a minute. "Yes. Yes, we do, but Mac- this is going to blow your mind- a park is square. Like, there's four sides."

Machiavelli seemed to be thinking of sitting down again and the outlaw seized him. "What does this mean, Billy?" he asked, loudly. A pigeon up above them took off on gossamer wings.

"It means we have to keep moving," the Kid said patiently. "Mac, you're not going to remember any of this by tomorrow, are you?"

"Remember what?" Machiavelli asked, obediently trotting along behind him.

"Exactly," Billy muttered. He stopped on the front steps of their apartment. One step up, he was at almost equal height to the Italian again, for the first time in weeks. "Well, the thing is," he wet his lips, "I love you too, you know…I'm just not really sure how. This has all gotten very confusing lately. Do you think…" He looked up at the stars, the darkness shrouding his face. "Do you think you'd ever date someone like me?"

Niccolo grinned. "Oh, Billy, I'd marry someone like you."

Billy gave a shy smile, the top front teeth showing. He was intrigued despite himself. "Really?" He leaned in, his lips parted- momentarily he forgot what to do as a blind panic spread over his body- then he captured Machiavelli's upper lip between his own. Their foreheads touched and Billy slipped an arm around Machiavelli's shoulder, feeling lightheaded himself now. He remembered that neither of them were particularly sober.

The Kid broke the kiss a few seconds in. "I shouldn't be taking advantage of you, Mac," he said worriedly. Feeling nervous, and horny, and a rush of other emotions, he stammered slightly as he backed away, putting a foot of space between them. He stammered. "I don't know what I'm doing. We shouldn't be doing this."

 _Mac looks almost disappointed._ "It's okay."

"Nah. Nah, we're both, we're both guys…" Billy trailed off. His eyes were locked on Machiavelli's, he felt a pull deep within him, a feeling stirring that he'd long left behind him, but still he couldn't help but notice the way that even now Machiavelli was swaying on his feet. Not sure himself what he was feeling, or why he'd just done what he'd done, he pulled his jacket off and wrapped it around the Italian. "It's cold."

In the distance a horn blared. Another responded. That was enough to snap the outlaw out of his reverie. Billy rocked backward, putting his weight back on the balls of his feet. _Supposed to be taking care of him, not taking advantage,_ he scolded himself internally. "Sleepy, Mac?" The Italian nodded, blinking a lot. "Okay, well, I'll put you in bed now."

Letting them into the house, he dragged the Italian immortal up the first flight of stairs. He pulled off the immortal's shoes and tie, unbuttoned his shirt so he wouldn't choke, and let him lie down. Machiavelli fell asleep within a half hour of very nonsensical talking, but Billy stayed awake in the dark, waiting for Scatty to come back and wondering what he'd just done. ( _I'd marry someone like you,_ he remembered _)._ He touched his lips.


	43. Chapter 43

AN: Thank you everyone who took the time to write a review for my story! I always mean to say thank you, but I usually forget- I'm a bit scatter brained, sorry about that. :) Let me know if you are enjoying the story and what suggestions you might have for the future chapters. As always I will try to work in what I can, so long as its amenable to the general direction I have in mind. Tschuss!

* * *

"And then what happened?" Scatty asked at the end of his story.

"Nothing," Billy said, sitting back.

"Nothing?" she asked incredulously.

The Kid ran a hand through his bangs, pushing them to the side. "I don't know what last night means or why I felt the way I did, I don't know what was going through Mac's head, but I knew he wasn't in his right mind. He ended up sleeping in his clothes. I didn't want to send him the wrong signal… Promise you won't say anything to anyone?" She nodded, but he still looked troubled. "I feel like I took advantage of him, I mean he didn't even know he was drunk for Christ's sake."

"But you didn't do anything to him," she pointed out reasonably and he forced himself to nod, feeling like a horrible person. He hadn't told Scatty that he'd kissed Niccolo back, had decided that he wouldn't tell anybody about that. "Hey," she said, breaking into his thoughts. "I sent Black Hawk out this morning to get you an air cast. We won't have to bind your arm anymore and in a couple of days, you should have the full use back. When Mac changes your bandages, you can put it on then." Reaching under the table, she grabbed a bag.

"Did you guys sleep at all last night?" he asked. Rubbing his eyes, he yawned himself. "When'd he get this?"

"I sent him out this morning before any of you had woken up." She handed him a mug of coffee. "I think we should have lobbied harder for the upstairs bedroom."

"Is it the futon?" he asked her anxiously.

"No, it's the shower on our floor. If we're going to be so generous as to call it that." Reaching her left arm over to her right shoulder, she stretched. "I like Fred," she offered, catching his worried look.

He brightened. "I'm glad. He was one of my oldest friends you know… it was a surprise to find out he's been alive all these years. I don't really know how to act around him," the Kid confessed. "He's older than me now… I mean, he always was, but physically it was only six year's difference and now it's more like twenty years… It just feels weird. What do you think I should do?"

She was about to reply when they heard footfalls on the stairs. They looked up as the Italian immortal came in. Moments later, Machiavelli came down, looking positively ragged. "Hey," Billy said nervously.

"Good morning," he said quietly, holding his hands over his eyes.

"Morning," they said in unison.

"Do we have coffee?" the Italian whispered, holding his head.

Billy stood up. "I can get you some," he offered shyly.

"Ohh… That would be very kind Billy," Machiavelli moaned. He ground his forehead into the granite countertop. "Why am I drunk anyways? Wasn't I drinking non-alcoholics?"

"Yeah, about that, honey… Black Hawk played kind of a mean trick on you," Billy said, glancing at their coffee pot. "He paid the bartender to give you the alcoholic kind…"

"When I feel better," Machiavelli said weakly, "I'm going to murder that man."

"So what do you remember from last night?"

"Nothing…" Machiavelli moaned. He glanced down at his body. "Why am I wearing my pants from last night? Why didn't I change? And where is my shirt?" he asked, uncovering his eyes enough that he could see the American immortal, but still shielding them from the light.

"Well, you were pretty out of it last night, so I just pulled off your tie and got you out of your shirt so that you wouldn't choke. But I left your pants on, cause I figured…" Billy trailed off. He shrugged. Behind them, Scatty turned off the overhead lights and pulled the shades down lower, letting only enough light in that they could still see.

Machiavelli sighed in relief and dropped his hands. "That's better," he mumbled. He squinted at his companions. _Why does Billy look so nervous?_

"I'm going to talk to Black Hawk about his stunt last night," Billy told him.

"It's okay," Niccolo decided. He kneaded his forehead with his knuckles. "I'll just be careful next time."

"You couldn't have known. I didn't know either; I would have told you if I had," the outlaw said anxiously. "I didn't think it was funny at all. You know I wouldn't have let him do it, don't you?"

"Of course, Billy, I trust you."

"So, do you remember anything of last night?" the Kid asked again.

Machiavelli squeezed his eyes shut. "Umm…" He remembered talking to Billy and a Scatty at their table… he remembered dancing with a black-haired girl… and standing outside of Barnes and Noble. An image of Billy standing on their steps in front of him rose, unbidden, from his sub-conscience. _One minute, he was looking into the green of Billy's eyes, and then the American immortal had closed them and-_ "It's hard to say what I remember is cause… it all kind of flows together, you know?"

"What's the last thing you remember?" Billy pressed on.

"Uh… dancing with some girl? She had dark hair? And then you and me, we walked back home, didn't we… I don't really remember much more than that." He watched the American's reaction, not sure why Billy was so interested. "Did something else happen? Something bad?"

"Nothing bad," Billy said absently. "It's just you were pretty drunk last night. I didn't want anybody to have taken advantage of you, when you weren't in control."

"Huh, well I felt like you were with me for most of the night, weren't you? I remember you being around…"

"I was. Especially after I found out what had been going on."

Machiavelli nodded. "So, who would have taken advantage then?" He looked around. "Was there any more coffee?"

"No, there's no more in the coffee maker, I meant to tell you that, but we were talking…"

Scatty began looking in their cupboard. "We can make some more… except we're out of coffee grounds. Nevermind," she told him apologetically. "I can run down to the corner market."

"No, that's okay," Machiavelli said. "It's not that serious."

"Here." Billy pushed his cup towards the Italian immortal. "You need it more than I do."

"Oh, I think I do," the Italian immortal groaned. "I'm still half out of it."

Across from him, Billy dropped his head into his hands. Letting out a pitiful sound, he pushed his palms into his eyes as if hoping to force them back into his head. "I think I'm finally willing to admit that I might have a cold."

"Big step," Machiavelli said sarcastically. He coughed a little himself. "I'm sorry, apparently I get a little- how do you say- bitchy when I'm hungover. And I think I'm getting what you have."

"You two should spend the day inside," Scatty suggested. She beamed benignly at Machiavelli, who stared at her hard, questioning her true intentions. "Go upstairs and get comfortable on the couch. I'll bring up some soup in a little while." She looked from one man to the other. "If you don't die on the way up. You both look awful."

"Okay," Billy agreed right away, choosing to ignore her last comment. Sliding off his stool, he slipped an arm around Machiavelli's waist. "Come on, old chap, we're heading for the upstairs. We'll be sick together..."

Coughing into the crook of his arm, Billy went ahead, shutting any shades which had been left open accidentally. Machiavelli wandered over to the couch where he laid down. They both looked up when Scatty came up. "Soup's ready already?"

"No, I do have to go to the store," she said, toeing her shoes on. "We have no coffee and nothing remotely soup-like."

"I thought we just went to the store?"

"Like a week ago now," Scatty told the outlaw. "I'm going to pick up some medicine anyways, try to head off this cold.

She headed out into what was becoming a cold October day. Going upstairs, Billy retrieved his flannel robe which he handed over to the Italian immortal. Machiavelli grabbed it gratefully, pulling it on. It was rather short on him, but the sleeves were long; at any rate, he felt warmer.

He read a book; Billy called the other two men on his cell phone.

By the time Scatty came back, they'd switched on the television. Billy was flipping through the channels using the remote. Beside him, Machiavelli had curled onto his side and was resting his head on the American's lap. They both sat up when Scatty brought up the soup at last.

"How'd I get your cold anyways?" Machiavelli groaned, burrowing deeper into his blanket. "I've been careful not to come in contact with your germs."

Billy shot a warning look at Scatty that the Italian immortal would have picked up on under normal circumstances. "Must just be from sharing a bed," he said, his sore throat masking the odd tone in his voice. "Sorry about that."

"It's okay… I was bound to get sick anyways. It's been a couple of months…" He accepted the soup bowl from Scatty, clinging to the bowl's handle like a lifeline. "You've been good to us, Scatty, are you sure you don't want to go out and have fun with Black Hawk? Wherever he is?"

"Me and him are going to go bowling tonight," she admitted. "For now, I'm happy to be with you." She wrinkled her nose as Billy began to hack next to them, but Machiavelli wrapped his arm around the outlaw, rubbing his back roughly.

"I like bowling," Machiavelli told her, surprising both American immortals so much that Billy stopped coughing. He made eye contact with the American, wondering why he was looking at him like that. "It's like bocce ball, I played it when I was young…"

"Well, Black Hawk and I have a bet between ourselves on who's going to win."

"Black Hawk is pretty good at it," the Kid cautioned vaguely. "We used to play in a league back when we lived together… that was back in the sixties though…" He made to lean his head against Machiavelli's shoulder, then remembered what had gone on the previous night, and thought better of it. He settled back, looking faintly uncomfortable.

"I'm going to win," Scathach said decisively, watching the two men. She'd hoped that what Billy had told her about would begin to clue the American immortal in on what he was feeling; she suspected that at least a small part of him reciprocated the feelings Machiavelli held toward him. For now, however, it seemed that the outlaw was unable to connect the dots. She could tell he was confused as to where everything stood in his relationship with Niccolo; watching them, she felt a small pang.

Machiavelli, for his part, seemed to have no memories of the previous night what so ever. From what Billy had told her, she wasn't really surprised- convinced that he was drinking non-alcoholics, Niccolo had drunk as much as the rest of them, but without knowing he'd be suffering the same ill effects. "I still think what Black Hawk did was lousy," she said suddenly and angrily.

Both men startled- it was lucky Machiavelli had already eaten most of his soup or he would have been wearing it. He lowered the bowl as a precaution. "Yes," Billy rasped, speaking for both of them. "When I get my voice back, I'm going to chew him out."

"I don't think that's totally necessary," Machiavelli said mildly.

"I don't want him doing it again," Billy said sharply, his voice rising to a squeak and fading entirely.

Machiavelli pushed the soup bowl onto the table in front of them, moving it into the center and away from them. "I don't think he's going to try it again. He sounded pretty abashed this morning when you were yelling at him. Either way, I'll keep on my toes for a little while…"

"When'd you yell at Black Hawk?" Scatty asked, sounding intrigued.

"I called him around noon." Billy still sounded indignant. Leaning over, he fumbled for his drink before answering. "You shouldn't have to play it safe, he's supposed to be your friend. He knows not to hurt you…"

"Well, Black Hawk and I get along alright, but we've never been close friends," Machiavelli reminded the American immortal. "We probably wouldn't be friends at all if you weren't connecting us… that's not to say I dislike Black Hawk, it's just how it is," he added hastily, seeing the expression on Billy's face.

"You two are friends," the outlaw argued, wanting it to be true.

Machiavelli might have pressed the matter, but they heard the front door opening, and all three of them stopped talking.

"How are the sickos?" Black Hawk asked casually, striding into the room a minute later. He tossed Billy his keys; the Kid caught them deftly and threw them onto the table.

"Still angry," Billy said thickly.

"Oh, come on, really? Niccolo forgives me, don't you Big Mac?"

"Please don't call me Big Mac," Machiavelli groaned, clutching his ears. "And I'm not in the mood to forgive you just yet. I just threw up for the third time today."

"Ah, well. I do want to make it up to you," Black Hawk said, sounding unusually contrite. "You let me know how I can make it up to you."

"I'll think about it," Machiavelli said darkly, walking quickly out of the room.

"Where's he going?" Black Hawk asked Billy, watching the Italian run upstairs.

"Probably throwing up again."

"Oh. I'll go check on him." Heading upstairs, Black Hawk knocked on the bathroom door before entering.

~MB~

"Are you sure you won't let one of us sleep there instead?" Billy asked for the third time since they'd settled into their room for the night. Crawling gingerly over to Machiavelli's side of the bed, he pushed his way under the tall Italian's legs so that Niccolo eventually lifted them up and rested them instead on his back. Hanging over the edge of the bed slightly, he looked at her.

"Billy," she said less patiently than the first two times she'd responded. "This mattress pad doubled the depth of the bed. I slept in it last night. I'm going to be fine."

"I just don't think it's very gentlemanly to let you sleep there," he protested. "Why don't you sleep up here with Mac? He's a good guy to bunk down with. Hardly moves at all."

"I know," she said, throwing back the covers.

Billy stopped mid prattle to look at her suspiciously. "How do you know?" He looked over at the Italian who was steadfastly avoiding his gaze. Machiavelli raised the book he was reading up so that it was covering his face, but Billy, moving quicker than Machiavelli had through he could in his current state, pushed it down so they could see each other eye to eye again. "How does she know?"

"It was only one night, Billy," Machiavelli said quickly, stretching out on his side of the bed. "I fell asleep, is all… Maybe two or three nights. Not much at all." He closed his eyes, feigning instantaneous sleep.

"Don't downplay it, boo, it was very romantic," Scatty called from her spot across the room. She cracked her neck and back, before wriggling down under the covers.

Billy loomed over the Italian immortal. Reluctantly, Machiavelli opened one eye, then the other. He gave a little startled cry, finding the outlaw crouched over him like some enormous bird of prey. "She's like our sister, Mac," the Kid said accusingly.

"You said she was like your sister," Machiavelli retorted, a cheeky grin forming on his features. "How was I to know that meant she was off limits to me?"

"Wait, I'm your sister, Billy?" Scatty sat up again so that she could see them.

Billy shrugged. "Well, yeah. I love you," he said unabashedly. Machiavelli could tell, just from what he could see of her from where he was lying, that while touched, Scatty also didn't know how to deal with the sudden surge of affection. They were both surprised when Billy broke the moment himself by slapping Machiavelli with his good arm. "Alright, what did you do to my sister? Oompf."

"Ohh… Billy, you fell on me," Niccolò groaned.

"I overbalanced."

They were laying, nose touching nose. Billy flailed a little, trying to find a way to push himself back right side up. "You shouldn't be allowed to use the word balance when you so clearly didn't," he continued to grumble. "Are you just going to stay like this forever?"

"Excuse me, I'm trying to get up. I only have one arm. You could help a little, you know," Billy huffed.

"I'm trying- you fell right on my arms."

Scatty crawled out of bed. "And you were worried about what he did to me," she joked, helping to pull Billy off of the Italian immortal. "We really didn't do anything," she comforted the Kid, pushing him back onto his side of the bed.

Billy crawled around, trying to get under the covers. "I knew that." Niccolò smacked him on the ass when it got too close to where he was laying, perhaps afraid that the American immortal was going to 'overbalance' again. Billy gave a little, rather unmanly yelp and quickly sat down on his side, pushing down under the covers. Folding his arms behind his head, he looked down at where Scatty was sitting.

She got comfortable, wedging herself between their legs. "Anyways, why would it bother you if me and Mac did anything? The two of you exclusive?" She winked at Billy. He mouthed at her, seeming beyond words. She couldn't know how she'd touched on something he'd been preoccupied with all day.

 _Oh, goodness Scatty_ , Machiavelli thought fondly. Like Billy, she just dives right in, instead of trying to be subtle. "The two of you are making me sound downright promiscuous right now," he broke in. He refused to look at the American immortal, not sure what his reaction to Scatty's teasing would be.

"I'm just a little possessive of Mac. I took care of him all summer. Now he doesn't need me." Billy yanked the covers up, only managing to cover half of himself.

"Oh, Billy, I still need you," Machiavelli murmured, fixing the blankets. He curled on his side and patted the bed between them. "Lie down, Scatty. Let's talk for a while. We don't have to sleep right away."

"Billy's pretty tired," she observed.

"I'm okay, come sit with us," he mumbled. Already his eyes were closing. "This is nice… like a sleepover…"

Grabbing her fleece blanket, she eased down between the two of them. Her weight anchored the blankets over them; Machiavelli shifted his pillow over to share with her and she looked up at the ceiling.

"Did you have fun bowling?" Billy asked sleepily.

"I did. Fred came along," she pointed out redundantly. "We played against Black Hawk and Billie. Our team won," she said, knowing he would ask. "But I'm not sure it counts as me winning over Black Hawk because Fred's surprisingly good at it. I guess we'll have to try again."

"We'll go with you when you go next," Billy murmured into her ear. He'd thrown an arm around her middle, trapping her slightly between them. He smiled. "I want to see Mac bowling."

"Careful, that was Black Hawk's logic for getting me drunk…"

"But you like bowling. I'd never make you do something you didn't want to do," Billy argued. He was quiet for a minute, a thoughtful silence. "When you go bowling, would you wear a suit?"

"Probably not," Machiavelli laughed.

"Aw, but that could be fun to see… Scatty, are you sure you won't get sick from being around us?"

"I have a higher immunity than you and Machiavelli do." She looked at him curiously. "What's it like, being sick?"

"You really don't know?" Billy scratched his head. "I feel lightheaded, my throat is sore, I can't breathe through my nose, and I feel woozy." He picked his head up, looking at Machiavelli. "Are those your symptoms, Mac?"

"I'm not quite there yet, but it's good to know I've got something to look forward to," the Italian immortal called back sarcastically.

The Kid couldn't help but giggle, and after a moment, so did Scatty. "He's awfully sassy, isn't he?" Billy whispered in Scatty's ear.

"Please," she said back. "He's the king of sass."


	44. Chapter 44

As they were shelling peas for dinner, Machiavelli was struck by a sudden and discouraging thought. Glancing around to make sure it was just him and Scatty in the room, he leaned in close. "Did I kiss you the other night?" he asked her.

"Not me," she negated.

"I feel like I kissed someone when we went to the club…" he mumbled, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes. Rubbing them, he looked over at her. "Did I?"

"Oh, boy, you did."

He groaned. "Oh, no… No, don't say that."

"You did. We just can't get you drunk," she said earnestly.

"Well, who did I-? Oh no," he said, shaking his head. She nodded. "Are you kidding? I kissed him again," Machiavelli hissed in disbelief, feeling horrified. "Are you serious? What did he say to you? He wasn't that drunk that night, it's not like he's going to forget this…"

"He wasn't upset," she assured him. "He felt like he took advantage of you last night, although why wasn't completely clear… were you wearing underwear yesterday when you woke up?" she joked.

He moaned. "I'm never drinking again."

"Well, to be fair, you didn't actually think you were drinking," she pointed out. Despite the gravity of the situation, she couldn't help but grin a little. She shifted her hand to cover her smile so that he wouldn't see it, but knowing him, he'd probably already noticed.

"But what did he say?"

She hesitated. "He said you asked if you could kiss him and he said yes, thinking you would kiss him on the cheek… but you didn't, not exactly." He kept looking at her. "He said it was kind of a surprise, but he laughed a little when he told me."

"But, what-"

"Billy's coming," she said, swiftly ending the conversation.

~MB~

She found him later that night to continue the conversation. "Billie and I were talking and we thought of a way to make him jealous," Scatty muttered to Machiavelli.

He was confused. "Billy told you a way to make himself jealous?"

"Other Billie. From now on we're calling her Nora," Scatty clarified impatiently. "Get dressed in your club clothes. We're going out, you and me."

"I don't really feel like going to another club so soon," he whispered in her ear.

"Don't worry, we're going to a bar." She got up herself, heading upstairs. Sighing, he complied with her order, changing back into his dress clothes and fixing his hair. He met her back down in the entrance hall.

"Mac and I are going out," Scatty called into the living room, stopping at the entrance.

Billy paused the game the three men had been playing. "You're going out?" he asked in surprise. "Where?"

"Bar. We'll be back eventually."

"Wait!" he said, jumping up. He stumbled around the coffee table and padded towards them. "You're really going out?" he asked Machiavelli, gently taking hold of his elbow.

"So it would seem," the Italian said smoothly, feeling bad for excluding his American counterpart even if it hadn't been his choice in the matter. "We'll come back," he promised. "Get some rest," he suggested, grabbing his coat from the hanger.

"Are you all going out?" Billy asked, looking behind him at the two Native American immortals.

"Nah, I didn't even know they were going out," Black Hawk drawled lazily, moving the joystick of his game controller impatiently. "Come on, I promised I'd spend the night with you. We're having fun."

"Alright," Billy said reluctantly, looking back at them. Machiavelli had to remind himself that they weren't abandoning the Kid forever, he looked so dejected. "Well, take care of yourselves. Don't… don't make any hasty decisions."

"We'll be fine," Scatty assured him. "Take your medicine at 9:00," she added, kissing him on the forehead.

"Don't forget," Machiavelli told him, clapping him on the shoulder. He pulled the door shut behind them and followed Scatty as she set off down the block. "What bar are we going to?" he asked as they headed off in an unfamiliar direction.

"We're not actually going to a bar; I just want Billy to think that. And you didn't have to lie because you didn't know."

"Oh," he said, glad that he hadn't knowingly deceived his friend. "Where are we really going then?" he asked as soon as they were out of ear shot.

Scatty didn't answer right away; she was busy flagging down a taxi. Getting in, she gave the driver Nora's address, answering his question inadvertently. "I'll explain when we get there."

Machiavelli was brimming with questions, but he knew that if she wanted to wait, she was going to wait. He did wonder when exactly it was that Billie Holiday and Scathach had laid down their respective arms and called the tenuous truce they seemed to be operating under at the present moment.

Their cab let them off in front of the jazz singer's apartment. Machiavelli stepped into the chill quiet of the night and offered his hand out to Scatty, helping her to her feet. They had no sooner paid their fare then the cab peeled away, screeching a little as it pulled around a corner and disappeared from sight.

Ducking into the alcove entrance of the dilapidated building, he pressed the button next to her fake name. She buzzed them up, the door clicking open with a wheezy sigh. Machiavelli practically had to sprint up the stairs after Scatty, who took them at her usual clip.

Reaching the top floor (Machiavelli wheezing a little and clutching his side), they made their way down the twisting hallway to Billie's door. It opened a second after Scatty's knock. Beyond manners, Machiavelli made his way past the two women and flopped on the couch.

"Make yourself at home," Billie said drily, following him into the room. Scatty brought up the rear of the group, throwing her jacket over the back of the couch.

Machiavelli looked back and forth between the two women. He put his arms behind his head, but didn't feel that he could pull of the easy going look Billy was such a natural at, and instead hugged his stomach. "Okay, girls, what's going on?"

"I didn't get the chance to tell you before, but Billy really wasn't mad about the kiss, in fact there was a lot he didn't come out and say," Scatty said, plopping down into one of Billie's chairs. "I really think he has feelings for you. He needs a push though; he's not going to get it on his own."

"And by push, you mean, me hiding in an apartment all night?"

"Nicky," he raised his eyes at the jazz singer, wondering if Niccolo was such an awful name that no one would use it, but said nothing, "you didn't see him moping around the other night at the club, but let me tell you- out of all the people in the room, he had eyes only for you." A small explosion took place in his stomach, but he kept his expression neutral, not wanting to seem over eager. "I watched him for a good part of the night and he turned down the advances of a lot of fine women. What do you think that means?"

"Means he's not in the mood for a relationship," he offered demurely.

She slapped him on the arm. "Bullshit!"

Machiavelli jumped a little- she had shouted that last word quite loudly. "If he does have feelings for me, which I don't think he does, this seems like it would be a little cruel, wouldn't it? I assume you want me to stay here for a couple of hours, making him think that I'm out screwing some poor dear at the bar. If he does like me," he said, stumbling on the phrase, "couldn't we just let him figure it out on his own? We talk every day. I think I'm making some progress. And I wouldn't want to have a relationship with him that's built on a lie…"

"Don't lie to him then. Just tell him you spent the evening in the presence of a beautiful woman," the jazz singer advised him.

Scatty snorted at this, shaking her head at her; Machiavelli wasn't sure whether or not they actually liked each other at this point- their alliance still seemed fairly tenuous. She looked at the Italian immortal. "You might not think Billy has feelings for you, but I do, and he's not going to realize what he feels without a little bit of work on your end. You can continue on the way you two have been going and yeah, eventually you both might figure it out, but do you really want to wait 400 years more for something to maybe happen?"

"But it still feels like a half truth. I don't really like lying to Billy," Machiavelli told the women nervously. "What if he doesn't have feelings for me? Then I'm just holed up here for no good reason, acting like an idiot."

"Some would say that acting like an idiot every once in a while is good for you," Billie told him frankly, rooting in her closet for something- what, he wasn't sure exactly- she continued to talk to him as she leaned in among the clothes; at one point, she disappeared from sight entirely. Scatty and Machiavelli exchanged a glance but waited for her to reappear. She finally extracted herself from several long dresses, holding a stack of board games. "What?" she asked defensively. "We going to eyeball each other for the next few hours?"

"Besides," she continued, pushing everything on her coffee table to the side with a clatter, "you're not 'holed up here for no good reason,' you're keeping me company. Don't I deserve some company sometimes?" she asked aggressively.

"Please, you've had plenty of 'company,'" Scatty argued. "I hear Black Hawk coming in at all hours of the night, you can't exactly be lonely."

"Sometimes I like the companionship of someone who isn't shtupping me," she said smoothly.

"How'd you arrange it so Black Hawk's not coming over tonight?" Machiavelli asked, interrupting their bickering. "I ask because it would be preferable to not have him wander in at any moment."

"I told him I could get my rocks off by myself tonight," she said. Looking up, she shook her head. "I was just joking," she explained incredulously. "I don't see him every night. I told him I wanted some time alone. He knows I only like people up to a certain point… besides, he's been wanting to spend some time with Billy."

Machiavelli loosened his tie. "Okay. Whose idea was it to tell me we really were going to a bar?" Scatty pointed to herself. "That was devious," he said admiringly.

"I thought so," she agreed loftily. "I'm only going to play one game with you, then I'll head back home and tell Billy you stayed to be with a lady." She sorted through the games. "Can we play Yahtzee?"

She ended up playing three rounds of the game with them, only leaving when she'd won more than the other two. Machiavelli didn't like the idea of her walking around alone at night, but upon telling her this, he had both women scoff at him. "I just want to protect you," he said indignantly. "I know you don't need my help, but that doesn't stop me from wanting to give it anyways. I can't help it."

"That's because you still secretly are a dad," she told him, throwing on her jacket. She leaned over the back of the couch to wrap her arms around his shoulders. He was quite pleased when she kissed him on the side of his head.

He stayed with Billie, playing Stratego next, then Sequence, and finally Battleship as the hours went on. While playing, he learned several new things about Billie Holiday that he mentally filed away for later: she liked to drink peppermint tea, she couldn't stand to wear socks inside, and one on one, she was much softer in character.

When she got up to change into warmer clothes, he gazed out the windows into the street below, watching people hurrying around and wondering what the chances were that Billy was looking out his window just now…

"Getting antsy?" she asked behind him, making him jump.

He smiled at her. "Rather the opposite; I think I'm falling asleep…"

"It's pretty late," she told him, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Past two… Are you going to head for home now?"

"I think I'd better," he sighed. Coming over to the couch, he grabbed his jacket, pulling it on and adjusting it so that it fell the way it should on his figure. "The walk will wake me up a little. And I will sleep well tonight."

"Did you have fun tonight?"

He was surprised at the question. It was uncharacteristically vulnerable sounding, particularly for the jazz singer. "I greatly enjoyed tonight. I didn't know anyone could be that competitive at Sequence," he told her with a shy smile. "Sometime, I'll bring Billy by and we'll have a rematch. He would enjoy the games, I think."

"Good," she agreed. She lightly smacked him on the cheek, her own patented version of affection. He thought he'd give her a kiss goodnight and then thought better of it; she was less scary now, but he knew close physical proximity would still be unwelcome and would likely provoke a negative response in her. Instead, he nodded sleepily at her and made his way out into her hallway and down the stairs.

It was foggy on the streets. He didn't know how he'd failed to notice it from Billie's apartment, but it didn't bother him in the slightest. Rather, he felt he could use the fog to his advantage.

He was surprised to see the lights in his bedroom still on when he finally walked home at nearly three in the morning. Using his aura to cloak himself, he'd managed to avoid interacting with anyone out on the streets at this hour; now he wondered why the two American immortals were still awake as he fit his key into the lock.

The living room was dark and silent. Apparently, everyone was upstairs.

Hesitating briefly outside his bedroom door, he pushed it open. "Hi," said Scatty, looking up at him from where she was sprawled on her futon. "You're back. Good." Rolling over, she went back to her book, seemingly uninterested in what else was going on in the room. He knew she was paying attention though; he could sense it.

Billy was reading himself, but he scrambled to the foot of the bed, tossing his book aside without marking the page. "Mac! I texted you and said I could come pick you up when you were ready."

"Oh, I replied to it. I said I'd be fine walking."

"I know, I got it, I just thought," Billy explained, watching Machiavelli pull his tie off the rest of the way, "I just thought maybe you'd change your mind. I didn't think you'd come back this late."

"You haven't been waiting for me, have you?" Niccolo sat down beside him on the bottom of the bed, taking off his shoes. He groaned almost indecently; walking back had given him a couple of sore spots on his feet that he hoped wouldn't turn into blisters. Taking off the garters next, he flexed his legs. "You didn't have to do that…"

Billy shrugged uncomfortably. "Scatty and I were talking until just recently. And you know I like to read before I go to bed. I was going to come get you in the car, but Scatty said she didn't know where you were exactly and she didn't want me to go out because I've got the cold, but I would have been happy to get you… Where'd you go?" he asked, trying to sound casual, but coming across as a little accusatory.

It wasn't hard for Machiavelli to fake awkwardness. Having been asked, just as he was grabbing his shoes off the ground, he froze. Stumbling over the words, he said, "just spent a couple hours with a woman I've met… we just talked for a little bit…some other stuff…"

"Must have talked for like four hours," Scatty commented, turning the pages in her book.

"…I learned a lot about her?"

"Oh, well, that's nice Mac," Billy said, retreating to his side of the bed again. He opened his mouth to say something else and floundered. "Good for you," he said at last.

Machiavelli felt bad; he opened his mouth to explain everything, but Scatty, perhaps understanding what he was about to do, punched him in the calf muscle. He swore in Italian, hopping around on one foot. Billy, who couldn't see what Scatty had done, turned around to look at the tactician. "Mac, you alright? What happened?"

"Stubbed my toe on the bed," Machiavelli muttered, limping over to the window. He pulled the blinds closed and began to change, twirling his finger around to indicate that he wanted Scatty to look away. She did so, but reluctantly, and he almost considered going down the hall to change in the bathroom like he normally did. Dressing quickly, he climbed in beside the outlaw. He swiftly changed the topic back to the outlaw. "Did you have a good night?"

"Me and Black Hawk watched one of the pre-game shows and we played some video games. It was fun. I don't get to hang out with him as much since he's been spending so much time with Billie," Billy told him. "I wish I could have gone out with you though."

"You need rest," Machiavelli said softly. He turned on his side, facing Billy and yanked up the covers. "I am sorry we left you behind though."

"That's okay," Billy said immediately, but he looked pained. "Hey, Mac?"

"Yes, Billy?"

"Ah, nothing," he negated. "Answered my own question." He grinned ruefully at the other man. "Are you still reading, Scatty?"

"She's sleeping, I think," Machiavelli said with some surprise. He actually got up to check on her. "Not faking it, she's actually out."

"Oh. Well, I think it's safe to turn out the light then."

Machiavelli sneezed. Billy turned out the light and blessed his bed companion. He called out a good night to the vampire-just in case- and turned on his side. Watching him restlessly move around in the bed, Machiavelli couldn't help it- he reached out and grabbed Billy's hand. Billy stilled, giving it a squeeze. The Italian immortal thought he'd let go, but in the darkness, the Kid hung on, not even letting go after he'd fallen asleep.


	45. Chapter 45

The next morning, Machiavelli came down to find bloody handprints on the front windows. "William!" The Kid appeared next to him as if by magic. "Are these real?"

"No," Billy said, his eyes crinkling in merriment. "Looks like it though, doesn't it?"

"What is it?"

"Cornstarch." Billy touched it with his finger and licked the red off. "See?"

"Billy, that's disgusting."

"What? It's just cornstarch." He grinned.

Machiavelli shook his head. "But the window," he said, exasperated. "That's not exactly clean, is it?"

"Cleaner than it will ever be again. Come here, I want to show you something else," he said, completely unfazed. Grabbing his hand, he dragged him up the stairs. "I've won back your honor. Did you know that Black Hawk is afraid of clowns?"

"No."

"Well, he is. In here," Billy said, pulling him into his old bedroom. "I set this up with Fred… look in here." He motioned to the closet door.

Looking suspiciously at Billy, Machiavelli twisted the knob and pulled open the door. Even expecting it- something- he still leaped back, fighting the urge to slam the door shut again. "Billy," he gasped, clutching his chest. "That's, that's, what the hell is that, William?"

"It's a clown," Billy pointed out redundantly. "Looks like the one from It, doesn't it?"

"Isn't it the one from It?" Machiavelli asked, still feeling his heart thump in his chest.

"It is," Billy agreed, looking happy that for once Machiavelli had caught a cultural reference. Coming to stand behind the Italian, he rested his forehead on Machiavelli's shoulder. "Found it in a Halloween shop, when I was getting the spiders…"

"Spiders?" Machiavelli followed Billy out of the room. "Where are the spiders?"

But Billy only smiled enigmatically at him.

"Billy, there aren't real spiders, are there?"

"No, no, of course not," Billy said hastily. "That would be irresponsible."

That only made Machiavelli more suspicious. He spent a good hour searching their house over in great detail, finding not only a trail of fake spiders, but a plastic tarantula, several realistic looking rats, and a spider web down in the kitchen windows. "When on Earth?" he groaned out loud, finding "bloody eyeballs" floating in the orange juice. He fished them out carefully, heading out into the back where he saw Scatty sitting.

"Did you help Billy destroy our house?"

She grinned, her eyes crinkling in merriment. "Great, isn't it?"

He sipped his juice. "You and I have differing definitions of the word great," he said, trying to sound annoyed, but really sounding faintly amused.

She leaned forward. "Fred's helping Billy prank Black Hawk," she told him. "Revenge for the start of the week."

"Oh, yeah?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, they're-"

"Here, you are. I've been looking for you," Billy called, making Machiavelli jump. Coming up the back stairs, he strode out into the backyard, with Fred by his side. "It's a nice day for once." He eased into the seat next to Machiavelli. "How do you feel anyways? I meant to ask you this morning, but then I was thinking about that clown…"

Machiavelli flushed a little, but spoke steadily. "My headache's almost gone. I'm beginning to think that I didn't get your cold, it was just my hangover yesterday."

"Good. Wish that was the same for me. I feel awful." Billy drummed his hands restlessly on the armrests. He looked over at the Italian immortal anxiously, perhaps picking up on some emotion emitted by the older immortal, before focusing his attention on Fred. "Fred, you're awfully quiet."

"Mm, I was just admiring your back yard. I've gotten a bit quieter in my old age," the other immortal joked.

Billy leaned forward. "Remember back in the old days? We were so reckless back then."

"I remember how popular you were with the ladies back then. You've settled down too, old man," Fred said acutely. He looked over at the other two immortals. "Billy would go visiting his queridas and our friend Tom would stand outside all night, holding his horse for him. Tom would do anything for you."

"I wouldn't say that…"

"Tom thought our Kid had hung the stars," Fred recollected, smiling slightly at the memory of it. "He was a couple years younger than Billy, thought of him like a big brother, isn't that right?"

"He was my best friend. I still miss him." Billy shifted in his seat. "It wasn't that many women, you know," he said, countering what Fred had been saying before; a fist in front of his mouth obstructed what he was saying slightly.

"Sure," Fred agreed warmly. "You had a couple you were very faithful to, is all. You kept going back to Paulita Maxwell." Machiavelli's stomach turned over, but none of the others noticed except perhaps Scatty who looked like she would like to cut off the conversation where it was. Fred was introspective, remembering something. "I miss Tom too."

Billy hit the arm of his chair with the palm of his hand, making a dull thwacking noise. He looked over at Machiavelli and Scatty. "My friend, Tom O'Folliard, he was shot by Pat Garrett. The one who tried to kill me too? He bled out… I held him when he died. He was twenty-two."

"Billy, that's awful," Machiavelli said, reaching for the Kid's hand. Unlike last night, he didn't dare hang on for too long. Giving it a squeeze, he let go again.

"I want to do something," Billy said, jumping up. "It's almost Halloween," he said pleadingly. "We should finish decorating the house. That's always fun. And we need to get candy for the trick or treaters before everywhere is sold out."

"Black Hawk and I have plans today, actually, but we'll be back by tonight," Fred said, getting heavily to his feet. He patted Billy on the back.

"What- what are you doing?" Billy asked him, sounding shy.

"Black Hawk knows some Indians in the area. He was going to set up a meeting with me. I'm looking for a new place to settle for a while."

"You're going away again? Already?" The Kid looked crestfallen.

"I'll be here another week or so, but then yes, I should be moving on," Fred said gently, resting his hand on the outlaw's shoulder. "It's not goodbye forever. I've missed you these past years." Again, patting him on the back, Fred entered the house, presumably to get ready for his excursion with Black Hawk.

In an effort to take his mind off of Fred's upcoming departure, Machiavelli and Scatty convinced Billy to bring them to the weekly farmer's market. He brightened slightly, glad to be able to drive his car again, his arm almost functional again. Though he was still coughing at a regular interval, they didn't have the heart to keep him cooped up inside the apartment today, not when he seemed so sad.

While Scatty and Niccolo diligently gathered the fruits and vegetables necessary to feed their household of five, it became rapidly apparent that Billy's attention was elsewhere. "What are you thinking of?" Machiavelli finally asked, carrying his bag of food over to where the outlaw was standing, looking over a vast display of pumpkins for sale.

"I was thinking it would be fun for us to carve jack-o-lanterns this year."

"Have you done that before?"

"Haven't you?"

"No."

"Really? You've really never carved a pumpkin before?" Billy asked interestedly. Getting up from where he'd been leaning on a fence, he moved towards the rows of orange, green, and white pumpkins.

"Why would I have?" Machiavelli asked trotting after him and Scatty.

"I thought this was something cultures had been doing for hundreds of years. You would have been around when it first started," Billy said excitedly. He picked up one of the orange fruit and inspected it. Finding some critical flaw, he put it down again. He coughed and they exchanged a worried glance. "I'm not that sick," he declared stubbornly. "I won't be sick around Halloween, it's one of my favorite holidays. I refuse to be sick on that day."

"I hope you get better," the Italian immortal offered sympathetically. "In Mexico, they would carve radishes. The Irish, they carved beets and radishes," he recalled. "But that's hardly Italy. I don't think most Italian children, even to this day, carve pumpkins. It's not particularly well known."

"But you'll carve a pumpkin with us this year, won't you?" Billy asked hopefully. "Cause even Black Hawk's going to carve one and he's not nearly as talented and handsome as you."

"You're laying it on awfully thick, Billy."

"Because I want you to have fun," he said earnestly. "And you are very handsome," he added quietly, so only the two of them could hear it.

Machiavelli nearly dropped the pumpkin he'd been holding. "I will carve a pumpkin with you," he agreed, wondering what he was getting himself into. "How many pumpkins are we going to get?" he asked dubiously, watching Billy wrestle an enormous pumpkin onto their cart.

"Well," Billy said, pushing up his hair, "one for each of the three of us and two more for Black Hawk and Fred, then maybe we should get one for Billie…"

Machiavelli could appreciate Billy's enthusiasm for the holiday, but at the same time, thought the outlaw might be getting a little out of hand. His thoughts ran off back to the skeleton that had popped out at him when he'd gone to get dressed… "Couldn't you and I work on the same pumpkin?"

"We could do that," the Kid agreed. "But I hope that you know, you're not getting out of cleaning the inside out. You're getting the whole experience."

"You know William, in Italy, the holiday of Halloween has never taken on much importance. Having spent hundreds of years celebrating Ognissanti and i Morti- that's All Saints Day and the day of the dead for you- it seems rather superfluous to take up a whole other day…"

"Scatty likes Halloween, don't you? That's why she's been helping me decorate."

Her face glowed. "I love it," she agreed. "A lot of the modern Halloween traditions originated from my part of the world, you know."

Somehow, they ended up in the car again with Billy's five pumpkins. He insisted on draping the back seat with a sheet which he apparently kept in the trunk for such purposes- this did put a slight damper on Machiavelli's crush- but eventually allowed Scatty to climb into the back, clutching the stems of two pumpkins on either side of her (Machiavelli knew that the minute Billy looked away, Scatty would relax). Three more pumpkins were wedged on the ground between the seats. As it was, Machiavelli had been instructed to keep a tight hold on the vegetables they'd bought, in case something horrific, to use Billy's word, should happen.

"You're lucky that I love you," Machiavelli said idly.

"I know," Billy agreed with a flash of his teeth.

~MB~

That evening, Billy convinced them to all sit down and carve pumpkins with him. He made Machiavelli change out of his suit, immediately taking the lead in this enterprise.

Machiavelli thought Black Hawk might protest Billy's leadership, but the huge immortal had been deferring a lot to the outlaw's judgement lately, perhaps afraid that the Kid would start shouting at him again. It was hard for Machiavelli to imagine Billy's legendary temper, after all, the American immortal was nearly always good natured; then again, perhaps that was what made it scarier when he got angry.

"That's better," Billy told him when he came down in different clothes. "You shouldn't get a lot on you, but you never know. I'm going to take off my watch and stuff though," he said idly, undoing the band and also taking the solitaire ring off his pinky. He dropped both on the sideboard, on one of the plates.

Following his lead, Machiavelli pulled off his watch, leaving it with the other man's.

Sitting in between Scatty and Machiavelli, Billy carefully cut the top open of their shared pumpkin. Concentrating, his tongue between his teeth, he cut at an angle- to prevent the top from falling into the pumpkin when they put it back on, he explained to Machiavelli. "Mac, can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Niccolo agreed, watching Billy cut the ropey strings of pumpkin guts off the top and throw them into the bowl beside them. He wondered if that was the majority off the guts Billy'd been talking about. He hoped it was so.

"Why don't you wear your wedding ring anymore?"

Self-consciously, Machiavelli glanced down at his left hand. "I keep it in a safe place back in Italy. I was afraid it would get damaged, or lost, otherwise. And I'd have to explain it to the people I worked with."

Billy looked at him furtively. "That makes sense," he agreed. "You just seem like the kind of guy to keep on wearing it… Okay, do you want to scrape with the spoon or just pull out some of it with your hands?"

"Is there a lot more," Machiavelli asked naively.

"Oh, Mac. Just put your hand in. Here." he turned the opening to Machiavelli, who hesitantly put his hand through. Billy giggled helplessly at the look of horror which quickly overtook Machiavelli's features. A clicking noise told Niccolo that this moment had been immortalized on film, the rest of the group cracking up at the indignant look which overtook the other expression just as quickly.

"Oh, no. No, Billy, what is this?" Machiavelli pleaded, making to take his hand out. Billy wrapped his fingers around the Italian's bicep gently, looking at him with his wide, blue eyes. "I have to pull this stuff out?" he asked despairingly.

"Just some," Billy compromised, smiling so that his front teeth stuck out. He positively beamed at the other man, amusement sparkling behind his eyes.

"You've really never done this before?" Black Hawk asked him, leaning forward on the table, his own pumpkin forgotten.

Machiavelli shook his head and made another face as he committed to pulling out a glob of the squishy mess. He wondered vaguely how such a disgusting tradition had persisted throughout the years, frowning as he dropped a handful of the stuff into the bowl. "Why is it cold?"

Billy leaned on his shoulder. "Well, we've been storing them in the basement. I won't make you do this if you hate it, Mac," he said, taking pity on the man.

"I don't… hate it," the tactician mumbled, digging his fingers into the wall of the fruit. He knew that it would make the American immortal happy if he kept going. "This is one of the weirdest sensations I've experienced lately, is all."

"Okay, well I'm going to separate the seeds out from the guts then," Billy said cheerfully. He dug into the mess with both hands.

"What are we doing with the seeds?"

"You roast them," Billy explained idly. "Haven't you ever had…? Never mind, Mac, I'm sure there's a lot of stuff you have done that I haven't." His fingers worked nimbly over the pulp, extracting seeds which he tossed in another bowl, Fred doing the same. "You didn't want to carve a pumpkin, Fred?"

"I might do one after," the older man affirmed.

Listening to them, Machiavelli felt his stomach turn a little. He could feel the uneasiness in Billy's words; it must be very strange for your friend to grow older when you haven't.

Black Hawk looked at Billie, already scraping the sides of her pumpkin. She'd been sitting cross-legged on her seat; now, she was leaning forward, deeply into what she was doing. "You don't want to do one together?"

"Back off, bub," she said tartly. "I work alone."

"Want me to do some?" Billy asked Machiavelli quietly. He offered up a towel, cleaning Machiavelli's hands off.

Looking up, Niccolo caught Black Hawk watching them. He looked away quickly- Black Hawk was looking at them with confusion on his face. "Thanks," he said to the American immortal, gently taking the towel from him. "This stuff gets everywhere."

"I enjoy carving pumpkins," Billy chattered. Turning their pumpkin, he began slinging large handfuls of the goop into the bowl.

Machiavelli took a seat next to Scatty. "What are you carving?" he asked, watching her sketch on the pumpkin with a pen. He couldn't make out the overall design; the lines were too faint.

"It's Dracula," she said with a grin. He chuckled. Leaning forward, she looked at Billy. "Well, what are you going to do? A noose?"

Billy actually shuddered. "No," he said faintly, smiling a little, but Machiavelli could tell the Kid wasn't at all keen on the idea. "No, nothing complicated. I like the faces just fine. Besides, this is Mac's first time. We're breaking his pumpkin virginity. His pump-ginity," Billy made up on the spot, looking up at the ceiling for inspiration. He smiled to himself, singing under his breathe.

"At least I know you'll be gentle," Machiavelli quipped.

Billy grinned. "What makes you think that? There's knives involved," he said, holding up the little saw.

"You two need a room?" Black Hawk drawled.

Billy snorted. "I plan on breaking his pump-ginity," everyone groaned, "right here on this table," he continued, undaunted. "Don't want to see, find somewhere else to be, that's what I always say."

"I'm not sure I want to stand next to you anymore," Fred joked to Billy.

Billy lit up; it had been the first time that Fred really revealed a joking nature and it had been apparently the sign that the Kid had been waiting for. "Don't want to get any juices on you?"

"William!"

"Pumpkin juice, Mac, get your mind out of the gutter," Billy said gleefully, tapping the melon.

"Machiavelli's scarlet, you're embarrassing him," Black Hawk pointed out, jabbing a finger in the Italian's direction. Niccolo didn't think he was actually defending him, but he was grateful nonetheless.

"Sorry, Mac," he apologized, still grinning like a Cheshire cat. He coughed, his laughing causing his lungs to shudder.

"Billy, sit down," the Italian immortal ordered, pulling him into the chair next to him.

"Ohh, my ribs," Billy groaned. He continued to smile. "Okay, Mac, we can draw on our design now." He gave Machiavelli the pen. The Italian handed it back to him. "You want me to draw it on? Okay."

"Are we making it scary or goofy?"

"Scary," Machiavelli decided. He watched Billy draw a mouth with a lot of jagged teeth. "I forgot you were good at drawing," he said, remembering suddenly that they'd sat in the cabin for hours sometimes, sketching.

"I'm nothing special."

"I think you are," Machiavelli affirmed stubbornly.

Machiavelli had a much better time with the actual carving part than he had with the cleaning out the pumpkin. He liked the meticulous nature of the task; it made him focus entirely on the present moment. After sketching it out, Billy seemed happy to watch him do the work. Somehow, they were the last ones to finish; even Fred had managed to prepare and finish a pumpkin (with Black Hawk's aid) before they were done. The Kid didn't seem to mind at all.

"Wait, we should light them all." He dashed into the other room and grabbed a bag of tea lights. The other immortals scattered, letting him do what he wanted. 'So much enthusiasm,' Scatty mouthed at Machiavelli. She turned off the light when Billy told her to. "Well," Billy said in the darkness, candlelight throwing flickering flames around the room, "I think mine's the best. Sorry guys."

"Oh, you do, do you?" Black Hawk said loudly. A scuffle ensued.

Machiavelli smiled, ignoring the fight going on around him. He'd forgotten how much he missed having a family. Grabbing Billy as he went sailing by him, he got him back on his feet again. "We should do this, every year," he told Billy.

"We should!"


	46. Chapter 46

After the pumpkins were carved, and half the household had gone out to celebrate the night before Halloween festivities, Machiavelli suggested to Billy that he take a nap, tired as he was becoming. The American immortal complied, giving Scatty and Machiavelli enough time to have a whispered conversation as they moved the pumpkins out so that everyone could see them, but it wasn't long before they could hear him coming back down the stairs, his steps heavier than normal.

"Well, he slept for maybe a half hour," Scatty pointed out. Smacking her hands together, she stood back to look at the effect of their efforts.

"It looks nice," Machiavelli said, joining her on the sidewalk.

They'd put the pumpkins on the steps. Scatty had lit each one with small flames from her fingers; the flames cast a long shadow into the night. Seeing Billy peek out their front door, they waved him down.

"Hi," he said, stumbling on the last step. Scatty wrapped her arms around him. "Like it?" she asked. He nodded, smiling faintly at the long line of jack-o-lanterns. "We thought we'd surprise you."

"You guys are the best."

"You shouldn't be out here. You'll get even sicker," Machiavelli reminded him.

"I'll come in now. I just was wondering where you guys had gone to."

Machiavelli led the way back into the house. Flicking on another light, he sat back on the couch. Billy groaned, sliding into the seat next to Niccolo and leaned his head against the tactician's shoulder. "You look like you're feeling worse, caro," Machiavelli said critically, glancing over at the younger immortal.

"I feel worse," Billy rasped. "Can I lean on you?" The Italian immortal nodded; after all, the American immortal was already mostly doing that anyways. Billy moved forward a little to let Niccolo wrap his arm around his shoulders, then leaned back in again. Rubbing at his face absently, he sighed and closed his eyes. His ear pressed against the tactician's chest, he likely could hear Niccolo's heart beating. "I'm tired," he murmured.

Niccolo glanced at Scathach, wondering if she would tease him later, and decided she wouldn't do that to him. He kissed the top of Billy's head, sorry to see his affable friend in such poor condition especially when he'd been so happy earlier that evening. "Why? Didn't you sleep?" he asked, again pausing the movie they'd been watching earlier in favor of talking to the American immortal. He stroked the outlaw's brown hair and moved slightly so that Billy could more comfortably lean against him.

Billy tugged the blanket off the back of their couch and covered himself as best he could, his legs sticking out the other end. He snuggled in closer to the other immortal, grateful that the other male immortals were out so that he could do this. Scatty seeing them like this, he didn't seem to mind at all. "Didn't sleep much last night. Couldn't sleep just now. I feel all congested. I think my cold's getting worse."

"Hmm," Niccolo made a noise of sympathy.

"You don't get sick as much as Machiavelli, but when you do, you really go for it," Scatty told the other American immortal conversationally. Sitting on his other side, she sandwiched him between the two of them, resting her face against his.

He laughed weakly. "I know. It's my secret skill."

Machiavelli gave him a half of a hug, knowing that he was probably feeling miserable. Running his hands quickly up and down Billy's arms, he tried to instill some heat in the outlaw's cold form. "What are your symptoms now? You only had a sniffle the other day." He paused. "You've got a fever."

"Do I?" Billy asked sleepily.

"Billy, you're like Chernobyl. In a moment, I'm going to put my face on your other side so that I get an even tan," Scatty joked. She looked to Billy for either approval or derision, but Billy's laugh was swallowed up by a coughing fit that wracked his entire chest. The other immortals leaned away from him momentarily as their companion hunched over, making a variety of rather disgusting noises as the phlegm in his system worked its way up.

"Billy, you sound just awful," Niccolo told him, carefully extracting his legs to get off the couch. "I'm going to get you some cough medicine from the kitchen," he told the other man, encouraging him to lean instead on the Shadow.

"I don't need any of that medicine," Billy protested weakly, making a face, but the older immortal was already moving out of the room and just waved a dismissive hand at him. When he came back, he'd grabbed another blanket out of the hall closet, which he tossed carelessly over Billy's knees, before measuring out some of the cough medicine into a little cup. Despite not wanting to drink the awful stuff, the American immortal sat up obediently so that Niccolo wouldn't accidentally dump the medicine on him. "Bleah!" He complained immediately.

"It'll make you feel better," Niccolo told him gently, tossing the cup onto the bottle of medicine and unfolding the blanket so that he could cover the man better, something Billy had been wondering if (and hoping) he was going to do. "This is what you get for pushing yourself so much the past couple of weeks. I told you that you needed to rest up."

"I like to get out of the house," Billy defended himself. "Clears my head."

"That's cause you're lightheaded," Niccolo told him, unceremoniously climbing over the American's legs and wedging himself in the space that had been his, which had now been swallowed up some by Billy's loafing. For a moment, the two of them fought over the shared space, wordlessly duking it out for the most comfortable position. Finally, they managed to find a place that sort of worked for both of them, with Niccolo's arms slung carefully over the other man's shoulders. The Kid's fingers stretched fruitlessly towards the remote he'd discarded on the foldout table. Machiavelli let him struggle for a moment, jammed as he was in Niccolo's armpit. "I don't think this is going to work," Billy mumbled after half a minute.

"I can get it," Scatty sighed, leaning forward to grab it.

"No, not that," Billy replied, moving again. "Although that is a help. I wondered if you guys were going to leave me to struggle for the rest of the night. No, my arm's going numb. And I can't see the TV." Finally, after much moving around, they ended up with Niccolo slightly higher than Billy, propped on the pillow he'd been leaning against before, and the American leaning heavily on his chest. "Good, that's better. Are you comfortable?"

"Va bene," Niccolò acknowledged back, feeling Billy's fever send hot waves through his own body. "Want us to start the movie over again?"

"What were you watching?" They'd paused it on an inconspicuous scene- a train was just leaving a station.

"In honor of the holiday tomorrow, we're watching Young Frankenstein with Gene Wilder. Here, I'll rewind it," Scatty said pressing some buttons. "Machiavelli's never seen it."

"You'll like this, I think. I hope. It's a great movie. Of course, I like anything with Gene Wilder, so…"

Scathach cut him off, both of them knowing that the Kid might babble for another hour or so. She pressed play and the credits began to roll across the screen again. He wrapped his arm around Scatty so that the three of them were wedged together on the couch. "Can we have a movie marathon tomorrow night? There's a lot of horror movies we've got to watch before October ends. We've already watched the Shining, but we haven't seen Psycho and then there's V/H/S, that was scary and also, weird…" He quieted only when the movie began, laughing at all the jokes again, even though he'd watched the movie several times over.

"I'm going to a haunted house with Black Hawk and Fred," Scatty commented as one scene faded into another.

"I'll stay home with you," Machiavelli offered shyly. The Kid nodded eagerly.

Billy went into peals of laughter when Gene Wilder stabbed himself in the thigh. Machiavelli could almost feel the smile on the other man's face. He laughed himself at some of the more absurd language jokes, the doctor's effort to distance himself from his heterodox ancestor failing repeatedly. As Billy got more tired, he cuddled more into Niccolo's body, which the tactician let him do with very little comment. At one point, his stomach began to make itself known and Niccolo paused the movie. "Billy, we still haven't had dinner. What time do you want to eat?" he asked in Billy's ear.

"What are we having?" Billy asked distractedly, already enraptured in the movie's antics.

"I've got shish kabobs marinating in teriyaki sauce or I could make you some soup, seeing as you're sick. I have to make a vegetarian option anyways."

"I can make food for myself," Scatty reminded him. "I could make his supper too," she added, jerking her head at the sick immortal in their midst.

Billy was considering his options carefully. "Soup," he decided finally, after another coughing spell. His stomach rumbled again and he ducked his head. "Sorry."

"It's quite alright. You want to stop the movie for now so I can make dinner?" Niccolò asked, reluctantly pushing himself up into a sitting position. Billy nodded. He kept himself covered with the two blankets, leaving the tactician to fend for himself. Niccolo shivered in the sudden dramatic change in temperature. "You know, William, you probably wouldn't be so cold if we'd thought to close these windows," he pointed out, noticing for the first time that all the windows in their living room were still open. He turned off a lamp as he passed it and worked his way around the perimeter of the room, closing windows and the blinds so they had more privacy.

Billy fumbled for the remote, turning off the TV. "I didn't know they were open." He got up, ditching his blankets at last, to follow the two older immortals into the kitchen.

Machiavelli snagged a vest out of the laundry, pulling it on over his button down shirt as he thumped down the stairs. Self-consciously, he straightened his tie.

"Want me to do anything?" Billy offered.

Scatty was already pulling some cans down from their cupboard. "You can start opening these if you want."

Billy looked at the cans as he opened them. "I'm guessing you're not making me chicken noodle?" he asked drily, noting that most of the cans seemed to have 'spicy' written somewhere on them.

"No, I'm making taco soup," Scatty told him. "We're going to burn the cold right out of you." Impatient to speed the process along, she warmed a pot full of chicken broth with her aura, filling the room. The smell seemed to wake Billy out of his sleepy stupor, animating him, so that he whirled around the kitchen, a mass of energy to his previous comatose state. After opening all the indicated cans, he began to chop small red peppers directly on the counter. Machiavelli not so subtly handed him a cutting mat.

"I shouldn't be sick," Billy told them, sounding a little resentful as he worked. "I eat too many spices. The wonder is that you still manage to get sick despite all the good food I put in you," he told the Italian. He dumped the peppers into the pot and waggled a finger at him.

"I've always had a delicate immune system," Machiavelli said, snagging one of Billy's oversized sweatshirts as he passed the dryer. He pulled it over his shirt, more to protect it, than because he was cold. The open cans, he began to hand to Scatty.

"When I do get sick, I tend to stay that way for weeks," Billy revealed reluctantly. "Last time I got sick was in the eighties. I was already kind of down anyways though, so I didn't mind the excuse to feel a little beat up."

"Why were you sad?" Scatty asked.

Billy shrugged. "I had gone through a period of dating a lot of women and I guess I finally realized that things weren't going the way I wanted them to…"

"So, what'd you do?" she pressed, intrigued. She needn't have looked over at the Italian; they both felt this was connected to the photo album Machiavelli had found.

"In the end? I just stopped. Cold turkey. I haven't been in a relationship in a long time," Billy admitted. He looked embarrassed.

"Neither have I," Machiavelli murmured.

"Yeah, me either," Scatty agreed.

~MB~

"Mac, can I ask you something?" Billy asked as soon as they heard the shower running that night.

Machiavelli hesitated, sure that he was in trouble in some way. "Of course, Billy."

Billy looked embarrassed. "What we were talking about earlier today… my 'hot streak' in the eighties? I had some stuff left over from that time… do you think you might have seen it when you were cleaning?"

"Some stuff, like what?" Machiavelli stalled, but he knew it was no good. "Okay, fine, I might have found what you're talking about," he unwillingly admitted. "At least I think it's what you're talking about."

"If you don't want to talk about it, we're probably talking about the same thing," Billy pointed out, jamming his hands into his pockets. "See- don't judge me now- the thing is, I had a photo album of some of the girls I dated."

"This photo album?" Machiavelli asked, opening the drawer to his bedside table.

Billy winced. "That's the one. You found it upstairs?"

"Yes, in the desk up in the study," Machiavelli agreed, feeling it would be stupid to pretend otherwise at this point. "I came across your magazines and…" he was scarlet himself now, "and you know that was when I was really hormonal, I'm just getting control of my body now…"

"Those magazines aren't too bad compared to things I've seen nowadays," Billy prompted him.

"No, they're relatively tame, all things considering, but… I was interested in them and I took them out. And that's when I found your album." He handed it to Billy.

Billy's ears were bright red. "Did you look in it?"

"Well… yeah," Machiavelli finally admitted, feeling it would be stupid to try to salvage the situation at this point. "I mean, who would turn down a lot of pictures of naked women, especially when you've just injected a half a dozen years of hormones into one week? And I'm a curious person, you know that Billy," he pleaded.

"It's okay, Mac… I'm just glad you found it and not… not someone else. I guess Black Hawk would be cool with the girls, but I don't know if you noticed…"

"There are some pictures of you," Machiavelli said, completing the thought. "I took them out and locked them in the little desk drawer the other day, before everyone came back. With us switching rooms a lot…" he trailed off.

"I appreciate that, Mac," Billy said gratefully. His face was scarlet though.

"You weren't naked in any of the photos," Machiavelli pointed out.

"I don't have much on, though, you've got to admit. I should have known those pictures were going to come back and bite me in the ass." Billy pushed his jeans down and quickly scrambled under the covers, perhaps self-conscious because of their conversation.

"Well," Machiavelli began, folding back the blanket and climbing into bed, "I'm pretty sure you saw more of me that first night that you came back than you'll admit to me, so we're probably pretty even."

Billy propped himself up on one elbow, watching his companion. "Do you think I dated too many women in the eighties?"

"No, we've both lived so long, it's surprising the numbers aren't higher. Why, do you?"

"A little bit. Remember, this summer, I told you I got close to a woman named Erin? Back when I was living up in New Hampshire? After things fell apart there, I came down here… And I really went wild for a time."

"What stopped you?" Machiavelli hadn't expected to ever have these questions answered; they certainly confirmed some suspicions he'd been forming. Since Billy had brought it up first, he felt he could push it for as much information as possible.

"It wasn't enough." Billy struggled to put it into words. "I realized I wasn't going to get what I really wanted, I mean we really can't, can we?"

Machiavelli felt an ache in his heart. "I don't know. Maybe we can."

"I don't want to run around my whole life through," Billy murmured. "I want to have someone who loves me."

The Italian ached to tell him how he felt, but the seconds lengthened into a minute and they heard a key turning in the lock downstairs. The shower shut off a few minutes later. "You'll be okay, Billy," he said instead. "I know you will. You just feel sad tonight cause you're sick."

"I'm not too sad," Billy told him, surprising him. "How could I be sad when I'm with you?" He smiled at the Italian. Rolling over, he switched off the light on his side. Rubbing at his stomach, he looked up at the ceiling, so Machiavelli looked in the same direction. "Wait, Mac," he said suddenly. "You found the album while I was fighting Kulkulan?"

"Yeah…" Machiavelli said slowly. They could hear Scatty talking to the others downstairs. "Why?"

"You said you were upset at the time… because of something you'd found. Was it the album?"

Machiavelli ran a finger under his nose. "Maybe…"

"Oh," Billy said thoughtfully. He laid down again, quietly deep in thought. "Huh."

Niccolo sat up to defend himself, but Scatty came up and their conversation got cut off. "The others are all back, then?" he asked. "Did they have fun?"

"Seems like it. I told them to keep it down though, cause Billy's sicker."

"You didn't have to do that…" Billy breathed, his eyes fluttering shut.

Machiavelli jerked his head in his direction. "He's almost asleep as it is," he explained. "You were in the shower for a long time…" They continued to talk in low whispers, Scatty climbing onto the bed next to him. Billy's comments got further and further apart as he got sleepier until finally he began to gently snore. "He knows about me finding the album," Machiavelli alerted her at last. That prompted several smaller conversations until finally even they were tired.

Scatty crept over into her bed and he switched out the light. Machiavelli fell asleep listening to the gentle syncopation of the others breathing.


	47. Chapter 47

AN: I wish it was Halloween already! Still, we're heading into fall, so that's equally nice. Hope everyone is enjoying the ride. Love can be slow growing at times...

* * *

"You really don't want to go out with the others?" Billy asked, stretching his feet onto the coffee table.

"I'd rather be with you," Machiavelli murmured. He sat beside the American immortal, gingerly putting his feet up as well. "Besides we have plans to watch scary movies."

"That's true," Billy said excitedly.

"I'm sorry you can't go out tonight though. I know Halloween's one of your favorite holidays…"

Billy shrugged. "We still get to hand out candy to the kids. And we're together. I like that." He paused, closing his eyes and leaning back into the couch. "I'm sorry I gave you my cold though. Even if you seem to have gotten over it pretty quickly."

"I'm sorry I kissed you when I was drunk," Machiavelli commented. He'd been reaching for his wine glass but remembering what he'd done a week ago, he left it alone.

"Did Scatty tell you?"

"Yeah, I asked her about it… I kind of remember parts of the night." Billy looked over at him, quietly prompting him in his own way. "…Not much, I just remember… oh, Billy, are you going to make me say it?"

"It was just a friendly kiss," Billy assured him.

"I'm cutting my drinking down to nothing," Machiavelli mumbled.

The outlaw laughed. "That's okay… You're allowed to drink." He gave Niccolo a side smile. "I didn't mind at all. Some people get depressed when they drink. Some people are aggressive. You're so affectionate when you're drunk."

Machiavelli wanted to switch subjects, still embarrassed about before. "It looks really nice in here, Billy. I like the pumpkins in the windows." They'd carved so many pumpkins that in an effort to declutter the front steps, at least enough so that the night's children could easily get up and down the stairs, they'd ended up putting some of the pumpkins in the front window. With Billy's fake bloody handprints in the window and cobwebs carefully placed in the corners of the room, the place looked especially spooky.

"I like it," Billy agreed. "I don't usually decorate for Halloween."

"What?"

"No, really, I don't, Mac. Not too much anyways cause it's just me."

Machiavelli looked around the room again. "I thought you did this, every year. No? Why now?"

"Because I've been having so much fun having everyone around," Billy told him earnestly. "Holidays can be a real drag if you're alone. You know?"

"Sure…"

Billy shivered slightly. "I'm going to light a fire in the grate."

"When are the trick or treaters coming?" Machiavelli glanced at his watch. It was a little past seven now- the sky was already dark outside.

"Shouldn't be long," Billy enthused. "Probably fifteen more minutes. We should have dinner while we can." Moving into their dining room, he used a lighter to start the candles in the center. Machiavelli followed him over, leaning on the doorway to watch the younger man work. Billy glanced up. "I like the candles," he said happily. "Makes me feel like a kid again. We always ate by kerosene lamps, and then gas lights as time went on."

"It's nice. Makes our pizza look fancier," he joked.

"I like it when you dress down, Mac," Billy told him. Sitting cross-legged at the table, he grabbed a plate and dragged the box over carefully. "You look nice, of course, with your suits, but I like it when you go casual too."

"Maybe you just like my casual clothes because they're mostly your clothes."

"That could be it," Billy agreed, his eyes twinkling. "I'll get it," he added when their doorbell rang.

Machiavelli got up too, following slightly after him. He leaned against the wall listening to Billy talking excitedly to their first round of trick or treaters. He smiled faintly, listening to Billy talk with a little girl in a green princess dress. Closing the door again, Billy was surprised to find Machiavelli behind him. "You should have come seen them, Mac, they were so cute."

"I'll get up next time and come with you," Niccolo said patiently. He sat back down again.

Billy was halfway through his third slice and Machiavelli, still working on his first, when the doorbell rang again. Billy grabbed the Italian immortal's hand. "Come on, you promised!" He beamed, pulling the Italian through the hallway. They opened the door.

"Trick or treat!" A small army of children were on the front steps.

"Hello! Nice wings, take two. Are you Harry Potter?" Billy asked the littlest of the group, a small Vietnamese boy with fake glasses and a lightning bolt scar drawn on his face with what looked like eyeliner. He nodded.

"Your pumpkin is out," he said, pointing at the jack-o-lantern on the top step. Taking a piece of candy, he stayed behind even as his older siblings were going down the steps.

"Want to see some magic?" Billy asked keenly, kneeling by the pumpkin. He waved his hands over the pumpkin, hamming it up, and then, with a slight snap of his fingers, reignited the flame. The boy's face lit up, especially when Billy extinguished the fire again so that he could try. He was awestruck when the fire lit again, not noticing the hint of cayenne pepper that hung in the air now.

"Come on, Liam, hurry up!" One of the older boys yelled.

Liam ran down the stairs. "Bye!" he called to Billy, who lit the fire one more time, this time with a match.

"Bye!" Billy looked back at Machiavelli. "Help me up?"

Machiavelli grabbed his hand, hauling him back to his feet. Billy sneezed on him and apologized, wiping the Italian's hand off with his patterned handkerchief. "He was sweet," Niccolo commented, pouring more water for his companion as they sat down again.

"Do you think I shouldn't have shown him my aura?" the outlaw asked anxiously.

"No, I think its fine. He probably thought we had a trick candle."

Machiavelli felt a bit shy, himself, talking to the children who came to their door. Billy sent him out alone the next time the bell rang. He was glad to find just one little girl, looking up at him with wide eyes. Knowing that his height must be rather intimidating, he knelt down and held out the bowl for her. She seemed shy; that was okay with him. He sympathized sincerely. Grabbing a lollipop, she ran down their stairs to her father. Their whole interaction had been wordless.

He found that he wanted to say something to them, but didn't know what to say. It had been a long time since he'd directly interacted with a child, barring his experiences this summer, but those had come naturally and these didn't.

"There's no rushing it," Billy said patiently when Machiavelli expressed his doubts. "It took a little while for me to get used to you being small after it first happened. Of course, it helped that you knew me and we spent the first couple of weeks convalescing… Just tell them you like their costume or ask them who they are. It'll get easier."

Billy didn't push him though after that. For the next half hour, he answered the door, encouraging Machiavelli to come to the door with him, but did most of the talking himself. Occasionally, he would seek the Italian immortal's opinion. Machiavelli was mostly happy to lean in the door jamb and watch the outlaw interact with their trick or treaters.

There were a lot of movie characters, he noticed. Halloween was supposed to be scary, he had to confirm with Billy, but the majority of the kids he saw dressed the same. "Does it seem like there's a lot of girls in blue dresses and blond wigs?" he asked the Kid at one point. "What's that about?"

"I haven't a clue," Billy said, shrugging.

The next time a little girl came up in that getup, the Italian had to ask; his curiosity had been piqued. "Who are you?" he asked kindly, holding out the candy bowl. He'd surprised Billy by snagging it first.

"I'm Elsa," she said giggling. Waving at him, she hopped down their stairs, dress trailing behind her.

"Well that tells us nothing," Machiavelli complained, standing up again. They could see another group coming up the sidewalk towards them. Billy leaned on the jamb waiting for them.

"You'll have to interrogate the next one," Billy advised him, laughing. "Hey, you're the scariest costume we've seen tonight," he said to a teenager with an orangy politician's mask on. "You might have lost your chance to find out," he added, closing the door behind the last group. He checked his watch. "Trick or treating will be over soon. We're seeing mostly older kids anyways."

They shut off their front light around 9:30, wanting to start their movie. While Billy was putting the DVD in, Machiavelli pulled all of the blinds in the front windows. He turned off all of the lights except for one, casting them largely into darkness. When the menu for the DVD came up, he switched off that last one, making the room entirely dark.

Billy threw his arm over the back of the couch, resting his hand just slightly on Machiavelli's shoulder. Outside they could hear the shrieks and screams of children still out collecting candy; the movie itself began quite quietly. Still, the Italian couldn't help but draw his legs up underneath him…

Billy leaned over as they watched the little boy going down into the basement. "Why are we doing this again?" he whispered.

"Everything's going to be-"

"Jesus!"

They both jolted. The Kid slid over so that he was touching shoulders with his Italian companion. They breathed a sigh of relief as the tension faded, if only momentarily.

True to every movie based on a Stephen King novel, this one was a strange mixture of the occult and the alarming. By the halfway point, Machiavelli had thrown appearances to the wind and was clinging to Billy's arm. Though the Kid was slightly in front of him, and had thrown out a shoulder protectively, Machiavelli could tell by his posture that the American immortal was just as creeped out as he was.

"This isn't even that scary," Billy whispered to him during the scene inside of the library. "You just don't know what's going to happen next though."

"I like the Shining better," Machiavelli muttered back. "That's a creepy movie…"

Billy paused it at a most inopportune time- two minutes before the end. "I have to pee," he explained, flicking on a light.

"You can't wait? Caro, it's almost done."

"No." He shuffled a little. "Will you come with me?" he asked sheepishly.

"Really, Billy?" But he got to his feet and followed Billy down the hall. The Kid didn't even have the decency to look embarrassed. Machiavelli stared fixedly at the Garfield comic on the wall, not wanting to be caught looking at the American's physique.

"I think the movie has a lingering scariness to it," Billy chatted nonchalantly, as if he wasn't taking a piss at that very moment. "Like, it's not so scary when you're watching it, until you want to go into a dark room and then it all comes back to you."

"Mm," Machiavelli said distractedly. Glancing over, he was greatly relieved and also slightly disappointed to find that he couldn't actually see anything due to the layout of the room. It did allow him to use all of his cranial functioning again; he felt a little bit of the blood in his body make its way back up to his brain. "It doesn't have the finesse of the Shining or the sincerity of the Green Mile, but it does still find a way to frighten you," he agreed. "It's just not the same subtle terror of the other movies."

"We should watch more movies. We could do movie reviews," Billy said eagerly, leaning his head back to look at the Italian ("You're going to pee all over the wall," Machiavelli reproached him. Billy only grinned). "Do you have to go?" he asked, zipping up his pants again. He began to wash his hands.

"No, I think I'm good." He led the way back to the other room. He wondered if Billy was trying to torture him- the American immortal leaned over him to turn out the light again, pushing some of his weight onto the other man.

Billy paused it as soon as the end credits rolled. "Okay, are we actually going to watch a second one, or are you too scared?"

Machiavelli looked affronted. "I'm not scared. Are you?"

"A little bit," Billy admitted. "But I know it's not real," he added hastily. "Okay, so we started with It. Now what do you want to watch, Psycho or Amityville Horror?"

"How about Amityville? I've seen Psycho before…"

"Okay, but I'll warn you now, Amityville stays with you for a couple of days…" Getting up, Billy put the DVD in the player. "I'm going to make some popcorn… want to come?"

"Sure," he agreed, not wanting to be alone. He got up from where he was sitting and followed Billy down the stairs to the kitchen. Popping open their microwave, Billy set the time and leaned back, resting against him just slightly. "I was a bit frightened at times," Niccolo conceded. "Good thing we don't have to go anywhere tonight."

"We should have movie nights more often," Billy opined again. He put his head on Machiavelli's shoulder, taking advantage of their height difference.

"Sleepy?"

"No, just comfortable."

The microwave beeped and darkened again. Grabbing the bag, and a bowl from under the counter, Billy led the charge back up the stairs. Machiavelli stopped to grab a couple of waters and was thus left behind; he hurried upstairs, realizing that the house was rather spooky alone. He sat beside the outlaw, tucking his feet underneath him so they wouldn't touch the ground.

"Okay, ready?" Billy hit play without waiting for him to answer. He handed over the bowl of popcorn. Occasionally, their hands would touch when they both reached in. Machiavelli felt a warm fluttery feeling in the region of his heart, every time it happened.

Candy bar wrappers scattered on the coffee table as the movie went on. Machiavelli flinched at the surprising turn of events; next to him, Billy leaned forward, looking half horrified and half intrigued. Without thinking about it, he hung on to the Italian's hand, squeezing it when strange things began to happen across the screen.

A loud slamming upstairs made them both jump significantly. The bowl of popcorn went flying, kernels scattering everywhere. Hitting pause, Billy looked over at his companion. "What was that?"

"Don't know. We should check."

Billy sighed. "I thought you'd say that." Climbing to his feet, he stalked behind the taller immortal as he went up the stairs. There was nothing on the second floor, so they climbed up the next flight. "Let's look in here, first," he whispered, peering into the bedroom.

"Nothing," Machiavelli observed, lighting his aura up to see the dark corners. "Must be across the hall."

Billy turned on his heel to go across the hall. Machiavelli made one last sweeping glance of the bedroom- he heard the Kid yell something incomprehensible- and ran out across the hall, ready to attack whatever the outlaw had found. "Billy, what on Earth?" Turning, he nearly jumped out of his skin. "Che cazzo! Oh fuck, William…" he yelled, clutching his heart.

It was the clown Billy'd hid in the closet of the two other male immortals. In the dark, it truly looked alive, leering at them. Patting his chest weakly, Billy flicked on the light in the room. "It was the window," the Kid said at last, still rubbing the place over his heart as though a little faint. "The wind slammed the door shut."

Crossing the room, Machiavelli shut the window firmly. "Fred was reading up here before. He must have left it open." Unamused, he gave the clown figure a hard smack. "We should destroy this."

"No, I've got a better idea," Billy said, beginning to grin. Grabbing a knife out of the top drawer of the desk, he carved off pieces of the mannequin. He handed the taller immortal the head and a leg. He himself gathered the other limbs. Crossing the hall, he hid the parts in different places in the room, finishing by putting the head in the drawer of Black Hawk's bedside table. "Let's let Black Hawk find those, tomorrow. Let's finish our movie, Mac."

"Billy, you're unbelievable."

"Thanks."

He thumped down the steps. Machiavelli carefully followed behind him. "That wasn't a compliment," he said with exasperation. Starting the movie again, he extinguished his auric candle, leaving wisps of white smoke in the air. This shimmered, then too disappeared from sight.

Billy grabbed the blanket. Tossing it over them both, he leaned once more on Machiavelli, reclining against him as the movie began to reach its climax. Inadvertently, Machiavelli couldn't help but smell the American's shampoo mingling with his cologne. With Billy gripping his arm as the dark figure on the stairs began to descend on the screen, Machiavelli was developing a very confusing erection. He shifted under the pretense of getting comfortable, hoping the American immortal couldn't feel what was happening.

No such luck. "Does gore turn you on? Not that it's surprising, but I didn't need to know that," Billy teased, warping into Machiavelli's space as the family ran down the stairs.

"I can't help it. And you're grinding into it."

Billy wiggled his hips suggestively before relenting. He moved over slightly. "Sorry," he apologized, grinning. "We don't have a typical friendship."

Two minutes later, Billy was back against him, arms wrapped around Machiavelli's middle. So engrossed were they in the end of the movie that the unexpected bang of the front door caused them both to scream. In the darkness, there was a mad scramble for the remote; it fell on the floor with a loud clatter and the batteries popped out, rolling away. "Boo!" Black Hawk mock whispered, jumping over the back of the couch and landing in the space between them.

Scatty came in next, flicking on the nearest light. "Why is the light off out front?"

Billy finally managed to pause their movie. "We forgot to turn it back on after the trick or treaters left… damn," he added, rubbing his chest. "Don't laugh at me," he said, jabbing Black Hawk. "That was the scariest part of the movie."

"Can't be scarier than some of the things we saw tonight," Billie interrupted him. Sitting in between Black Hawk and the Kid, she crowded him into a corner. Somehow, Machiavelli and Billy found themselves as far apart as they could be.

After an hour or more of listening to them detail what they'd done that night, Billy extracted himself from the couch. "I'm going to turn in. Scatty, Mac, can I tempt you?"

"Yes, I think so." Machiavelli helped Scatty up from her seat. "Good night," he called behind him.

"Did you have fun tonight?" Scatty asked them, gratefully pulling off her shoes for the first time in hours. She threw them into the corner. "Ugh," she added, falling back onto their bed. She pushed herself up so that she was fully lying in the middle of the bed.

Niccolo climbed on next to her, wrapping an arm around her waist. "I did. Didn't you?" he called to the American immortal.

"I had so much fun." Billy sat Indian style next to Scatty on her other side. He trailed his fingers across the edge of Scatty's face, smiling down at the Shadow. "Sleep with us tonight," he said suddenly.

"What?" She laughed.

"No, really. Like a real sleepover. We all fit." Scathach looked over at the Italian immortal, perhaps to share an exasperated look, but he raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "You wouldn't believe all the scary things you think of after watching two horror movies back to back," Billy continued. "I don't want you sleeping on the floor."

"Billy, I sleep on the futon, that's hardly the floor. And you know these things don't actually exist…" She sighed. "Okay, but let me get under the covers. This is going to end poorly," she muttered, climbing in the middle again.

Billy climbed in after her and clicked off the light. "Nonsense, we're going to have fun. You're just like a baby sister to me."

"Kid, I'm thousands of years older than you."

"Still," he said stubbornly. Propping himself up on his elbow, he grinned lazily. "Another late night," he pointed out, glancing at the digital clock. "Good day, though…"

"Are you comfortable?" Machiavelli asked the Shadow, not really sure where to put his hands now that the lights were out. He touched her hip gently.

"I am. You?" He nodded. "We do fit well on this bed together, I'm surprised…"'

"It's cause we're all so skinny," Billy told her conversationally. He settled down at last. "Good night…"


	48. Chapter 48

AN: Phew! Made it! I recently began teaching an autistic 6 year old boy English and as you might imagine, it occupies a lot of my time. I'll try to keep the updates on track though. Hope everyone's well!

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"Billy's clingy, huh?" she whispered.

"Hm?"

Scatty tapped Machiavelli on the forehead. "He likes to cuddle in his sleep."

"Oh, yeah, definitely." He stretched, moving his legs slowly. Having just woken up, he felt a bit scatterbrained. "Do you need to get out? I can get up."

"Nah, I'm okay for now. I'm glad you're awake though… I was beginning to get bored." She rolled onto her back carefully. Raising her eyebrows she gave him a little look. "No wonder you always volunteer to sleep with him," she whispered. "You get to cuddle and he doesn't even know."

Machiavelli raised his head off his pillow to make sure Billy was really asleep. With one arm wrapped around Scathach's waist, the outlaw lay, his chest rising and falling in steady rhythm. He chuckled. "I greatly enjoy it. After Fred leaves, and Black Hawk goes, you should stay. Then we'd have to share a bed." He waggled his eyebrows at her playfully.

She grinned.

"Nora made a bit of a fuss when she first came over here about us sharing a bed and I think it got to Billy," he told her quietly. "That's when we set up this room- it had a ton of junk in it before- but I could have gone on sharing a bed with him upstairs for all of time…"

The Kid made a willowy sighing noise and stretched slightly. They thought he was waking up- both of them turned to watch the American- but he just shifted, adjusted himself in his sleep (Scatty gave an undignified snort and Machiavelli prodded her to quiet her), then rolled around onto his other side. "Guess you're free now," Machiavelli muttered to her.

"Ugh, I can see half of his ass," she complained, going to pull up his flannel pants. Machiavelli lightly slapped her hand away, stopping her. Turning around, she looked at him accusingly.

"I never claimed to be a good person," he demurred.

"You're an awful person," she shot back, but quietly and she was still grinning. "Objectifying Billy like that, honestly."

"I'm not objectifying him, I'm simply admiring the circumstances," he retorted, laughing when she began punching him in the arm. "Enjoying fate? Oops…" Their horseplay had nearly knocked over the lamp on his side table. At the last moment, Machiavelli caught it and pushed it back.

Billy woke up with a yipping sound. Sitting up, he blinked at them. Shaking his head (rather like a dog, Machiavelli thought privately), he glanced over at them. "Getting it on with me in the bed? That seems impolite."

Scatty looked up from where she was bending over the Italian, clutching the lapels of his sleep shirt. "Please, he wishes. Pull up your pants, Billy."

"Yes, ma'am."

"You can't go gallivanting all over the place half undressed, kid, you're giving Niccolo a hard on."

"Are you sure it's not the half-naked woman practically on top of him?" he shot back at her.

Niccolo snapped his fingers together. "I'm completely flaccid right now," Machiavelli insisted quietly. They both ignored him.

Scatty waggled a finger at Billy, letting go of the Italian. He raised a finger in protest, but they ignored that too. "You know I could put up with the cuddling from you, but then you started adjusting yourself at one point."

"I can't help that," Billy protested, laughing a little. "Do you want me to be uncomfortable?"

"I would have thought you could pull it together for one night, at least while you have a lady in your bed."

Billy beamed at her. "You're just lucky that Long Schlong over there doesn't find more interest in you."

Machiavelli sat up. _This was getting out of hand._ "Billy, that's the worst name you've given me so far."

"Actually, it's kind of flattering, isn't it?"

"Billy, why don't we fix your arm up? I think it must be nearly healed," Machiavelli suggested, changing the subject.

"Look at you blush," Scatty said to him, moving over so he could kneel beside the Kid. "I'm going to take a shower and make breakfast."

"We'll be down soon," Machiavelli mumbled, rolling up the sleeve of Billy's shirt so that he could get to the aircast. "Does this hurt? Let me look at your arm again," Niccolo ordered. Billy'd been back for more than a full week now, but they hadn't looked at his arm recently to see if it was making progress or not. He worked steadily, listening to the rain lashing against the windowpanes outside.

"Let me get this cast off," Billy mumbled. He groaned in frustration, finding it difficult to undo the tight straps on his arm. His fingers scraped fruitlessly at the bindings, seeming a little too stiff and unskilled.

"Let me do that," Machiavelli chastised patiently. He undid the straps one by one, before carefully pulling the cast off Billy's arm and over his hand. "You really are bad with your left hand."

"Well I don't think it's working just right today, but I feel a little… sluggish today. But no, I'm no great shakes at doing stuff with my left hand. You know what it's like to spend more than a century with people thinking you're left-handed when you really can't even scratch out your name with that hand? Hmm…"

"What's the matter?"

"It's still not completely healed," Billy complained, holding up his arm.

Machiavelli ran his fingers over the scars, assessing the damage still to heal. While it was vastly improved over what it had been, his arm hadn't improved at quite the rate that the outlaw desired. "It looks almost completely healed, William. Look on the bright side."

"I guess so. That's the first time you've said that to me, that I didn't suspect you were lying, Mac." Billy laughed. "These bottom two bones are finally mended, I believe." He turned the arm. "And the burn's mostly gone, too."

"We're just waiting on these two gashes to heal up," Machiavelli murmured in agreement. "But I think we can keep the cast off during the day today, at least. Maybe put it back on before you go to bed tonight so you don't crush it if you roll over…"

"That'd be nice," Billy said enthusiastically. "It'd be nice to be able to zipper my own pants for once. And shave."

"You don't like the way I did it?" Machiavelli teased softly. He worked his finger's over Billy's arm, checking the mobility of his limb. "Does this hurt?"

"Only a little," the Kid said and Machiavelli stopped what he was doing immediately. "No, really, it hardly hurt at all. And I need to stretch the muscles." He flexed his fingers. "No," he continued vaguely. "I can even put weight on it again, just a little. See?" He leaned on it. Machiavelli searched his face for traces of pain the younger man might be hiding, but Billy smiled at him. He fixed the collar on the Italian's shirt; Machiavelli hadn't noticed that it was sticking up.

"Well, I bet you'll be glad to not have to dress me anymore." He laughed.

Machiavelli smiled, but in his mind, he had very different thoughts. "I didn't mind taking care of you this week. Makes up a little for what you did over the summer."

"Well, that was fun, Mac," Billy argued, wiping his gashes with rubbing alcohol. "This… not so much."

Machiavelli began to look around for the salve they put on Billy's arm to clear up the cuts. "You haven't been able to go anywhere really, but I've liked being with you this week." Billy sneezed. "Salute," he said idly. "Here, when we find the salve, we can put it on your cuts… and leave the rest of your arm open to get a little air… and we'd be done. How does that sound? Comfortable?"

"Much better," Billy said happily, bending his arm at the elbow. "I can move for once." He sneezed again. "But I wish my cold would clear up now," he said gloomily. "Am I going to be sick or broken for the rest of all time?"

"You'll get better, you're just having a couple of bad days…" Machiavelli said idly. "I don't like you being sick, caro, but I still feel like I have a debt to settle with you. I want to take care of you."

"There's no debt between us," the outlaw protested. "You wouldn't have been stuck in a kid's body all summer if you hadn't saved me in the first place. So the way I see it, you're tipping the balance again."

"Found it!" Machiavelli said at last, holding up the little tin. "Your arm's going to be all healed in a day or so, I know it. Has it been hurting you?"

"Nah, it's much better these days." Billy looked over his shoulder at the closed door. "Hey, Mac? Did Scatty see anything?" he whispered.

"She saw your ass hanging out."

"I can live with that," he decided. "Anything else?"

"No, I mean, we both saw you grab at your dick just before you woke up, but nothing else."

"I can't help it. Don't you get wood?"

"You know that I do," Machiavelli muttered, not looking Billy in the face now.

The Kid hmmed. Grabbing at the noticeable bulge in his pants, he ran his hands back and forth in a couple quick jerks. "I have to pee," he complained. "I've got to get rid of this."

"Want me to leave you alone?"

"No- ehm- no, I'm going to sneak down to the bathroom on the first floor. Unless you don't mind me getting rid of it here? I'm close, I can tell."

Machiavelli finished dabbing at his wound. There were only faint scars now on his arm. "I have to get dressed. If you don't look at me getting dressed, I won't look at you."

"Deal," Billy agreed. He climbed back under the covers. "I'll wash our sheets today," he added as the Italian got up.

"That would probably be prudent." Machiavelli dug into the closet, trying not to listen to the breathy noises Billy was releasing. Unbuttoning his shirt, he dropped it on the ground behind him, hoping that Billy was keeping his end of the promise. He pushed down his pant bottoms and stepped out of them. "You're still sick. We should take it easy today," he called behind him. Hesitantly, he pulled on a pair of jeans and slipped into one of Billy's henleys.

"I think- ugh- I think that's a good idea."

Hearing Billy give a muffled moan, Machiavelli cautiously turned on his heel. "You done? That didn't seem to take long…"

"What do you want from me, I've been sick," Billy defended himself weakly. Folding his arms behind his head, he gazed up at the Italian immortal. "Woo…"

"Billy, you still look tired." Machiavelli observed the American immortal. No, the Kid didn't look good at all.

"Think I might go back to sleep… still have to pee though… damn." Billy's eyes were closing.

Machiavelli reached out a hand, feeling a thrill at touching the other man after such an intimate moment. "Come on, Billy. You don't want to piss all over the bed. You'll thank me later for this."

"But Mac, I'm so comfy… okay, fine." Billy struggled to his feet. Machiavelli did his level best not to notice the way Billy moved, how he brushed his hands off on his pants. He sat down on the bed on his side, pulling his socks on.

Billy came back before he had even gotten up the motivation to get off the bed. "Scatty's still in the shower," he explained. "I peed out of the window facing the back."

"Billy that's disgusting!"

The Kid laughed. "I was just joking. Really, I was," he added hastily because Machiavelli was still giving him a hard, searching look. "She let me come in and pee. I told her we're sleeping for another hour. It's early yet."

"William, I'm already dressed," Machiavelli reminded him, spreading his arms wide.

"Ngh, come back to bed with me. Just take the pants off- everything else would be fine to sleep in." Burrowing back under the covers, Billy patted Machiavelli's side of the bed.

"Alright, just a little while. Look away," he ordered him, undoing his jeans.

~MB~

"Is it still raining?" Billy mumbled.

Machiavelli picked up his head and listened. "Sounds like it." They heard thunder crash somewhere nearby. "Is that what woke you up?"

"No, not exactly." Turning on his side, Billy burrowed into the covers. He yawned, prompting a similar response from the Italian immortal. "Something else… I like it when it rains though. I like to be under the covers when it rains, I should say."

"I know," Machiavelli said without thinking.

"I've told you that before?"

"No, well… yeah, in a way. Maybe a month ago…"

"Did you ever get back to sleep?" Billy asked, stretching out his whole body. He glanced over at his companion.

"Mm, no, but I was enjoying my rest very much. Scatty came in about a half an hour ago. Her and Black Hawk were going over to Billie's apartment for the day or so. Help with something… I don't know what. Fred's still sleeping though, last I knew. They had quite the late night last night."

"Hmm…" Billy was quiet, his silence having a thoughtful aura to it. "Hey, Mac, can I ask you something?"

"Sure," he agreed, dropping down into the chair in the corner of the room. He began to get dressed for the second time that day.

Billy fell back on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. It was hard to hear what he asked because he mumbled it, but leaning forward, Machiavelli caught the words nonetheless. "…think I'll ever have someone love me?"

"Billy, you already have lots of people who love you," Machiavelli said quietly, meeting his eyes when he looked over. He got up, tugging the blanket off of his friend.

"Do you?"

"Of course." Machiavelli ran a hand through Billy's hair. "You saved me… Billy, you're burning up."

"I've got a fever?" Billy asked dizzily.

"Yeah," Machiavelli agreed, leaning over him. He looked at the American immortal. Billy was flushed, but not really sweating. "No wonder you don't want to do anything today. Come on, sit up. I think if we put you in the shower you should be okay." He helped pull the American immortal to his feet.

The Kid clung to him. "Feel like I'm going to fall… shower might not be the best idea…"

"I'll run a bath then, we'll go upstairs."

Pulling him up the stairs, Machiavelli knocked on the bedroom door at the top of the stairs. He heard Fred yell 'come in' and entered. The Native American immortal was sitting on the bed, reading, when they came in. He got up. "What's wrong with Billy?"

"He's pretty hot, isn't he?" Machiavelli told him. Invading Billy's personal space- the American swatted at Fred a little, but Fred ignored it- the Native American pressed a palm to Billy's forehead. "I'm going to run a bath, try to get it down a little."

"That's for the best," Fred agreed. He ran a hand down the side of Billy's face. "Hey, handsome, I thought you didn't get sick?"

"Don't," Billy said stubbornly. "Except for that time when we were holed up in the McSween's house, do you remember that? That was awful, with them shooting at us and half of us sick…" He pulled his shirt over his head.

"You took the lead there, even though you were sicker than any of the rest of us," Fred remembered. "You kept us safe." He gave Billy a gentle push towards the bathroom. "I'm sure Niccolo's got the tub ready."

"Hi. Think you're okay getting in the tub on your own?"

"Oh, sure, Mac. I'm not feeling as bad as you guys seem to think," Billy agreed, already fastening with his belt. "I'm going to leave my skivvies on though, just in case you need to help get me out of the tub when all is said and done."

"I'll be out here with Fred, then," Machiavelli said. He was distracted by the scars on Billy's torso. "I thought those would go away," he said, unconsciously touching the faint silver outlines of the Kid's stomach wound.

"Nah, gives me something to talk about at parties."

"You've never talked about them before," the taller immortal pointed out, swatting at Billy's backside as he edged out of the room.

"Haven't gotten to that point yet, is all!" Billy shouted around the door.

Both the older men waited for the sound of Billy falling, but after a minute, they relaxed. "Care for some company?" Machiavelli asked Fred.

"Sure." Fred gestured to the end of the bed, so the Italian sat down. Inside the bathroom, they could hear Billy singing, the words reverberating off the tile walls. "Do you ever play rummy? We always used to play a lot of card games; they were cheap and portable…"

"He taught me rummy this summer."

"Black Hawk was telling me about what happened this summer. That must have been a surreal experience."

"It still is," Machiavelli mumbled, taking four cards off the bridge and playing them down. Fred laughed a little, calling rummy on a card Machiavelli had discarded. "Billy! Your singing sounds just awful! Why don't you give it a rest before you start the twilight bark?"

"I'm not going to start the twilight bark, it's barely the afternoon!" Billy shouted back.

Fred smiled so that his whole face crinkled up with merriment. "He was always a good man. I know you can see that."

"He took care of me the whole summer like I was his family. I've never met anyone like Billy. He's…" Machiavelli looked up. He realized he'd been carrying on. "He's a wonderful man."

Fred nodded. He played out all of his cards, but it turned out Machiavelli had a slight point advantage. "He is, indeed. Sounds like a dying cat right now, but that will work its way out with his cold."

"I hope he gets well soon," Machiavelli said, glancing at the bathroom door. Billy had kept on singing despite their protests. A coughing fit had the Italian a little worried, but he waited, and soon it cleared up again. Glancing at the man he was playing cards with, he felt he should explain himself. "I get worried when… I just don't want him to suffer at all."

Fred nodded. Dealing them each their hand, he said quietly, so quietly Billy wouldn't be able to hear in the next room. "You love him." It wasn't a question.

Machiavelli dropped his hand. He hadn't suspected that Fred knew, but by the look on the Native American's face… he knew. "How'd you know?"

Fred glanced up quickly. "I see the way you look at him. And how he is when you're around. You bring out the very best in him." He paused. "Don't worry, I like you. I think you'd be good for him. That's one of the reasons I'm looking for a new place to settle."

"Why?"

"Well, you can't do much about anything with all these people in the house… Damn…" He'd lost again- Machiavelli had gone for a quick victory, cutting Fred off before he could gather any points. He chuckled, shuffling the deck. "Scatty didn't tell me, you know," he added conversationally.

"I didn't think she did," Niccolo said smoothly. "She keeps our secrets well."

"You're afraid that Billy wouldn't feel the same way in return?"

"Yes," Machiavelli admitted bluntly. "I don't think he would at all. And I'm afraid to lose his friendship," he added. "I lost my family many years ago… thinking back on it now I should have realized the prices you pay with immortality… since then I haven't had many friends. I prefer not to get close to mortals, you see, as it hurts too much to lose them and I've lost quite a few. But Billy, Billy could be my friend for a long time. If I play my cards right," he laughed, putting down a run.

Fred gazed at his cards steadily. "I wish I could tell you how he's feeling. But I've been away from him for so long… I can't say for certain."

"Why'd you let him believe you were dead for so long?"

"Well, Mr. Machiavelli, you bring out the best in our boy, but me, for the longest time, I was afraid that I, we, brought out the worst in him. Our friends, the other Regulators," Fred explained, seeing the questioning look on Machiavelli's face. "Spending time with him now, I realize that wasn't it at all- the circumstances in which we lived our mortal lives were not conducive to our growth as honest men. There was guns and violence all around us, and Billy, he didn't have anyone looking out for him."

Standing up, Fred glanced at his watch. "He's been in there for a good twenty minutes without making any noise. I'm going to check on him." He rapped his knuckles softly on the door before entering.

Machiavelli couldn't help it; he got up to follow the other man to the door.

Fred glanced back at him. "He's asleep," he said laughingly. "Oh, Billy." The fondness in his voice was unmistakable. "The water's still pretty warm," he observed, dipping his fingers in to check. "I'll drain a little, so he doesn't accidentally slip under. We can make lunch and come get him."

Machiavelli came a little closer. "We shouldn't leave him alone too long," he decided, "but for now he should be alright."

"Alright, we can bring some soup up. Good thing he fixed the dumbwaiter." Following Machiavelli back out of the bathroom and down the stairs, Fred related to Machiavelli some horrendous tale told to him by Black Hawk, of an out of control party and some second degree burns which had happened in the sixties.

The Chickasaw immortal had plenty of stories of his own. As they worked- most Fred, actually- he told the tactician about when he'd first met the Kid and what he'd been like when he was really young. He'd met Billy apparently when Billy was just barely fifteen. Machiavelli mentioned the story about Billy getting lost in the canyons of Texas and Fred nodded.

Machiavelli felt greatly relieved that Fred didn't disapprove of his feelings for the outlaw. He was surprised that their fellow immortals seemed to be rather progressive in their thoughts; then again, perhaps they'd seen the rise and fall of hatred and indifference long enough to see beyond meaningless prejudices.

As they headed back upstairs, he almost asked Fred how he thought Black Hawk might react when they heard a loud crash come from the floor above. All thoughts of conversation aside, they both ran up the flight they'd been on to find Billy lying flat on his back on the stairs, moaning and holding his head.


	49. Chapter 49

"Oh, Billy, what happened?" Machiavelli climbed up halfway up the staircase, making his way to where Billy was still lying on the stairs.

"Was going to get dressed… felt a little dizzy… I just fell. I'm fine, Mac. Just a little stunned, I guess." He let the Italian pull him into a sitting position, groaning slightly. "I didn't know if you guys had gone out somewhere."

"Of course we hadn't," Machiavelli reproached absently, searching through Billy's hairline for any cuts. Satisfied that there were no noticeable contusions, he stood up.

"We were heating up some soup. I thought you'd probably be still asleep when we came up to get you," Fred called up from where he was standing.

"Oh. Well, I feel like an ass." Billy stood up shakily. He grabbed at Machiavelli's shoulder, hanging on painfully. "I thought… I thought. Never mind. Why am I getting worse? It's been a week. Shouldn't I be getting better?"

"If there is a god, he's punishing you for every time you've said 'I never get sick'," Machiavelli said gravely. He wrapped his arms around Billy's waist. "I'll help you down the rest of the way. We're almost all the way down, you're doing okay. I just don't want you to fall again."

"I guess I should have given you the benefit of the doubt."

"Let's just say it's a good thing we have the landing," Machiavelli intoned ironically. "We're going to lie you down on the bed so I can make sure there's no injuries."

Finally reaching the bottom of the stairs, he steered the Kid into their shared bedroom. Billy was shivering; after his soak he'd wrapped a towel around his waist thinking he'd get down to his bedroom on his own. The towel, which had cushioned his fall just slightly, had been left behind on the stairs. His hair was still sopping wet, Niccolo noticed.

"It's our fault," Fred told him, sitting beside him on the bed. "We shouldn't have left you up there alone."

"Well, I'm not a child, you don't have to supervise me." Billy made a hissing sound when Machiavelli lightly probed the bruise forming on his back. Pulling his briefs down lower, Machiavelli checked the rest of him for injuries.

"Well, you have a massive bruise right on the lower part of your back- that's going to hurt- but the rest of you seems fine. Did you hit your arm?"

"No, that's like the only thing I didn't hit. Guess I'm more protective of that now."

Machiavelli skimmed his fingers through Billy's hair again, needing to be sure. "You've got quite the lump forming on the back of your head. Not bleeding though…"

"I'm going to get some ice," Fred decided, pushing off of the bed. "I'll be right back."

"You scared me, William," Niccolo commented, looking over the front of his body now. Billy held his arms out away from him, but, as they'd expected most of the marks were on his back.

"Sorry."

"We're immortal, not invulnerable," he said sternly, knowing that he was repeating himself again but he couldn't help it. "We have to get you out of these wet clothes."

"Sure," the outlaw agreed reluctantly. "Can you get me a towel?"

By the time Machiavelli had gone to the hall closet to grab a towel, Billy had somehow managed to maneuver himself over onto the Italian's side of the bed and under the covers. Machiavelli's quick observation skills detected the wet underpants thrown in the corner of the room. "Here, caro. I'll grab some sweats for you to put on."

"Thanks," Billy said gratefully, grabbing the towel immediately. "And a new pair of underwear too?" he asked shyly. Machiavelli tossed those over first.

"Should have just stayed in bed all day," Niccolo muttered to him, making him smile.

"What's life without a little adventure?" Billy shot back, a grin breaking through despite the obvious pain. Bending slowly, he carefully put each of his legs through the holes and eased it up to the point where he couldn't pull it up any higher without standing up.

Wanting to give him some privacy, Machiavelli left the room to get Scatty's hair dryer. Coming back, he plugged it in by his bedside table. Turning it on low, he began to dry the other man's hair. He stopped when there was no more moisture and the American immortal had stopped shivering.

"Do you want to stay here and rest a bit? So you don't have to move-?"

"Could we go downstairs?" Billy asked timidly. Niccolo raised his eyebrows. "I know. I know. It seems like a bad idea. But I got lonesome up there. I'll still lie down."

"Are you going to be comfortable on the couch?"

The Kid grinned, knowing he'd won. "Course. It's squishy."

Machiavelli ran a hand over his face, knowing he'd regret this. "Okay, fine. But you behave. And I help you down the stairs." Billy nodded eagerly. "Let's get you on your feet," he added, pulling the Kid up as gently as he could. "Let me help you get the rest of the way dressed. Even though you have a fever, it would be really bad for you to get cold right about now."

"Remember when sweats had elastic at the bottom of the legs? Aren't you glad we made it out of that phase?" Putting his hand on Machiavelli's shoulder, he stepped into the pants, pulling them up himself after Niccolo got them on. "Now maybe I should put on a long sleeve. I guess I'm not getting dressed up after all."

"Were you planning on dressing up?"

"I was planning on putting on a nice button down shirt," Billy said vaguely.

"He wants to go downstairs," Machiavelli told Fred as soon as he came back.

"Kid, don't you think you should stay here?" They watched as he struggled into a pullover.

Emerging, Billy blushed, but looked determined. "I don't want to be stuck up here by myself all day long. I'd rather stay downstairs."

"Alright," Fred agreed. He looked like he disagreed, but kept it to himself. "Are you going to help him down again?"

"Of course," Machiavelli asserted.

Fred led the way down the stairs. Behind him, Machiavelli struggled with where to hold Billy up. He was reluctant to wrap his arm around the man's waist now that he knew it was covered with bruises. "It's okay," Billy told him quietly. "Let me put my arm around you and I think I'll be fine."

Machiavelli took a step down, easing the American immortal down gently beside him. He put a hand on Billy's stomach, more to assure himself that the Kid wouldn't fall than to stop him from lurching forward. Fred reached the bottom long before they did and watched them come down. Niccolo wondered what the Native American was thinking; his face was impassive.

"There you go," he said at last, fondly patting Billy on the side of the face.

"Took a while, huh?" Billy said back, grinning. He leaned on Machiavelli. "Not as young as I once was."

"Oh, Billy, you still seem so much younger than the rest of us."

"That's cause I smile more. Why'd you stop smiling?"

"I've never been one to smile much, the moustache just hid that fact better," Fred quipped. "I put lunch on the dining room table. Do you still want it?"

"I'm really hungry," Billy said immediately, limping down the hall.

"You're always hungry," Fred pointed out. "This reminds me of when you were badly injured at Fort Sumner, do you remember that?"

Sitting together in their sunny dining room, Machiavelli and Fred made small talk. Keeping an eye on the American, Niccolo was concerned that he wasn't eating. "Billy, would you like me to make you something else?"

"Huh? Oh, Mac, there's nothing wrong with this. I'm just having trouble keeping it down, to be honest." He coughed again, a little cough which Machiavelli now recognized as the kind that a person made when they were trying not to throw up.

"Why don't you just have some of the broth?" Machiavelli suggested.

Billy nodded. Picking up his spoon again, he began to scoop up a little of the broth. Halfway through his meal however, he stumbled to his feet and quickly made a run for the bathroom. Getting up behind him, they could hear him heaving. Machiavelli rattled the knob, but Billy had locked it.

He came out a minute later, looking slightly green. "Sorry," he apologized, coming out. His face was damp. They couldn't tell if he was sweating from his fever or if he'd splashed his face with water. "Didn't want you to see me do that. It's not really dignified."

"Billy, you've seen at least me and probably Fred throw up several times," the Italian pointed out. Behind him, the Native American nodded. "Do you want to try some more of maybe a different liquid?"

Billy shook his head. "It's okay. I don't feel hungry anymore."

"Okay, why don't we go into the living room? You can take it easy. I'm going to go get some ice," Fred told him.

Billy eased onto the couch, rolling on his side and drawing his legs in front of him. Fred came back upstairs to find him in a semi-fetal position, Machiavelli talking to him in a gentle whisper.

Fred stood next to Machiavelli. "Lie on your stomach, Bill, we'll put this ice on now." He helped Billy roll onto his stomach, raising the back of his shirt and putting an ice back wrapped in a face cloth onto the small of Billy's back. "Put one on for fifteen minutes, then take it off. There's a couple more in the freezer you can use," Fred told Machiavelli. The Italian nodded, dropping into a seat of his own now.

"Where are you going?" the Kid asked, craning to look up at them.

"I promised I'd go over to Billie's apartment. That's where Black Hawk and Scatty are. Apparently we're moving furniture?" Fred shrugged. "I said I'd help out."

"When'd they decide that?" Billy asked, turning as much as he could towards his old friend. He propped himself up.

"Black Hawk asked me last night. And he just texted me now, asking if I'd come."

"Oh. Well, tell them I'd join them if I could," the Kid said, putting his head down again.

Machiavelli crossed one leg over the other. "I'll be staying here, of course, with Billy. Will you be back for dinner?"

Fred tugged at his chin. "I don't know. I'd hope so. I'll have Scatty text you if we're not…" Collecting his coat, he waved goodbye and turned to go. Calling after him, Billy indicated that the man should take his car. He made Fred solemnly swear he'd protect it like it was his own child.

Alone again, they were both quiet. Billy was the first to break the silence. "What are you doing, Mac?" He tried to move so that he could see the Italian immortal, but Machiavelli had taken a seat in Billy's armchair and it was nearly impossible for the Kid to angle himself so that he was within his line of sight.

"I'm just starting a book," Machiavelli told him, getting up and sitting on the coffee table in front of him so that would Billy stop trying to turn. Reaching out, he rubbed at Billy's shoulders. Under his touch, the Kid relaxed. "I thought Fred would stay longer."

"I think he's uncomfortable around me."

"I don't think that's it," Niccolo said gently. He had a feeling the Native American had left so that they'd get the chance to be alone. He felt grateful, but he didn't want the American immortal thinking his old friend disliked him in any way. "He probably just felt obligated to help Black Hawk."

"I guess so."

"Are you uncomfortable around him?"

Billy was still, thinking it over. "A little. He's so different. He got so… old." He huffed a little laugh. "Sorry."

"I wasn't offended until you apologized."

"There's nothing wrong with being old, Mac."

"Look at me, Billy, I'm what 22, 23? I'm not old," he pointed out smugly. "At least not yet."

"You were never that old," the Kid pointed out fondly. "Mac, querido, sit on the couch. You can't be very comfortable sitting perched there like some big bird." Machiavelli ignored Billy's last words and pointed looked up and down the couch for space. Billy patted the place where his head was resting.

"Where's your head going to go?"

"In your lap?" Billy asked innocently. "Like you did last time I was feeling this bad, after I got stabbed. Please?"

"Alright, although you weren't facedown last time," the tactician argued lightly, slipping around Billy to sit down. Taking the ice off, the outlaw turned on his side, resting his head on Machiavelli's thigh.

"Mac, you promised you'd teach me how to speak Italian," Billy reminded him.

"And you want me to do it all this afternoon?"

"Yes," he agreed, with a little grin.

"Well, I did agree to teach you," Machiavelli agreed, shutting his book. "I take it you would like to begin now?"

"Well, I thought it might be a good time since I have to stay lying down. But you know you don't have to keep me company," he added.

"Do I look like I want to move furniture? Have I ever looked like I want to move furniture?" Billy chuckled and shook his head. Machiavelli fixed the blankets around the Kid's shoulders, fondly running his fingers over the shell of his ear. "Of course I have to stay with you. I have to take care of you- you took care of me."

"I loved taking care of you," the outlaw assured him. "You were so small and you needed me. I love being needed." He sneezed.

"So how should I teach you?"

"I don't know," Billy said thoughtfully. "I've been practicing my vocabulary. I can say basic things like 'io sono un uomo' and 'io ho una mela', but I'd like to know more interesting things than that."

"You seem to pick up languages pretty easily," Niccolo observed. "And it should help that you already speak Spanish and French-"

"-Could hurt me too, though-"

"I'd like to think of it as an advantage," Machiavelli continued doggedly. "I think the best thing for you is for us to hear the language. You can practice the pronunciation once you're well, but for now I don't think we should tax your voice. Sound good?"

"Sounds good," Billy agreed right away. "Te amo, Mac."

"Oh, te amo, Billy," Machiavelli said immediately, surprised at the admission, at the words in his native language, and getting that warm feeling in his chest again. "I do love you," he said without reservation. Even if Billy never knew the extent of his love, Machiavelli was contented to share his feelings and have them interpreted as they may. "I don't really know how to teach you Italian," he confessed. "I don't know where to start?"

"Ask me how my day is," Billy suggested.

"Well, I would say 'Come stai?' because we know each other well, so we can use the familiar," Niccolo began to explain. "You would say 'sto bene' or 'non sto bene', although in this case, you would probably say something along the lines of 'sono malato.' That means you're sick. Want to try?"

"Sure," Billy said, licking his lips to wet them. He rolled back on his stomach. Taking this as his cue to put the ice pack back on, Niccolo set it in place. "Okay, Billy, come stai?"

"Sono… ma-la-to… Mac? Don't I have to use the word 'io?' In the sentence?"

Machiavelli shook his head. "Not in conversational Italian. You can drop the subject of the sentence because the verb is conjugated in such a way that people will always know to whom you are referring. The important thing to remember is…"

~MB~

After spending much longer than he had thought they would, going over the intricacies of Machiavelli's native tongue, it seemed like he had finally tired the American immortal out. Except for getting up every once in a while to wash their bed clothes, or to fetch another ice pack, the two spent a quiet afternoon in the living room.

Billy had requested that the other immortal read to him, and while Machiavelli was happy to oblige him, he felt himself going rather hoarse after hours of working his way through Billy's dog-eared copy of Cannery Row. Resting one hand over Billy's heart, he began to read silently as the American immortal began to drift off.

It was only when his phone buzzed with a text and he put the book down to check his message that he realized somewhere along the way, Billy Bonney had woken up again. "I thought you were still asleep," he commented, fishing his phone out of his pocket.

"I just woke up again." Billy yawned and sniffled. "I like the nearness of you. I couldn't help myself."

Machiavelli patted him idly. "The others are heading back here now," he read from his phone.

Billy uncurled from his current position. "I should get my face out of your crotch before Black Hawk comes back. He'd never let me live that one down…"

"That would probably be wise," Machiavelli agreed, knowing that if Billy was on the receiving end of Black Hawk's comments, he himself wouldn't be far behind.

"What time is it? Are we ever going to eat?"

Machiavelli arched an eyebrow. "Is that your less than subtle way of saying you're hungry?"

"I'm starving. Io ho…" he stopped to think about it. "Hunger," he finished, rather anticlimactically.

"You were doing so much better," Machiavelli teased. "Hunger making you stupid?"

"Mac, I've got a fever of 103," Billy said, gesturing to the thermometer they'd thrown on the table. "And I've never been that smart, you know…" He gave the Italian a crooked little smile.

"Well, you'd be a lot less hungry if you had eaten lunch when we made it." Machiavelli knew as he was saying it, that that wasn't very fair. Billy had been sick, he remembered.

Billy didn't seem offended though. Hearing footfalls on the steps up from the kitchen, he sat up straight in the chair. He arched his back slightly, whimpering.

"What happened to you?" Scatty asked him, leaning against the back of the couch. He jumped; they both did, in fact. She had snuck up on them so quietly neither had heard her until she was almost literally right on top of them.

"I fell on the stairs," he mumbled.

"Did you slip?"

"No… It was more like I got dizzy… and then my legs went out from under me. Next thing I knew I was sitting on the stairs." He smiled at her, but it looked painful. Machiavelli got up from where he was sitting.

"More like, lying on the stairs," Machiavelli corrected, coming back into the room with a thermometer in his hand.

"Well, yes, that too." Billy rolled over. Pain registered on his face; he tried to hide it from them but that only made his grimace more grotesque. "Ooh…"

"Is he hurt bad?"

"I'm fine," Billy tried to say, but the Italian talked over him.

"I checked him for abrasions. He's got a nasty bruise on his back; that's why he's in pain right now. And he's got a lump on his head." So saying, he held out the thermometer for the American immortal to take. Billy opened his mouth, so he slipped it in. "He should be better in a week or so."

"A week!" Billy yelped. The thermometer fell out and he sneezed. His whole body jolted and he moaned pitifully. "I've got to sit up," he decided. Pushing himself up by sheer force of will, he leaned heavily on his knees, panting.

"Are you okay?" Black Hawk asked.

They all jumped. "Did you just come in the room?" Machiavelli asked in surprise, eyes flashing.

"Yeah, we just got here. Fred's still in the garage, I think." Black Hawk came around the other end of the couch, touching Billy's shoulder. "What did you do?"

The Kid waved a dismissive hand. "I don't want to tell the story again. I just fell, is all. And I have a bit of a fever." He put his forehead down on his knees, wrapping his arms around his legs for support.

"He's burning up. You're burning up," Black Hawk told Billy. "Have you tried taking a bath? That might make you feel better." Billy grunted but didn't respond.

"That's why he fell," Machiavelli told the Native American immortal. "Hello again, Fred," he added as the final member of their party came up the stairs. "He was trying to come downstairs and he got dizzy," he added in an undertone to the man to his right. Bending down, he picked up the thermometer off the couch. "Want to try again?"

"Sure," Billy agreed, taking the thermometer back. He stuck it back in his mouth. "It's hard to talk with this in," he mumbled around it.

"So don't talk," Machiavelli advised him.

"All these years, this is all it took," Black Hawk joked, sitting down behind Billy. He wrapped an arm around the Kid's shoulders. Machiavelli was rather surprised to see such close contact, but Billy seemed comfortable with it. He leaned back, resting his head against the back of the couch and looking immensely bored.

"Did you have dinner yet?" Scatty asked Niccolo.

"No, did you?" He took the thermometer back. Scatty nodded. "All of you? Okay, I guess I'll make something for me and Billy. Your fever is 38," he told the outlaw.

Billy made a face. "Which is what in Fahrenheit?"

"Oh, sorry," Niccolo looked down. "101."

"Jesus, Billy!" Fred interjected.

Billy made a noise of pain and shifted around so that he was lying down again. He rested his feet in Black Hawk's lap without asking. "Everything hurts…"

Machiavelli knew he wasn't to blame, but he still felt guilty. If he hadn't suggested the bath in the first place, Billy wouldn't have been upstairs and he wouldn't have fallen. Patting the American immortal on the head, he headed for the kitchen. Scatty trailed after him.

"It's too bad he's sick," she said, breaking into his thoughts.

"Si. He's been uncomfortable all day. I offered to give him some of my aura, but he didn't want it prolonging his cold…" Machiavelli looked around the kitchen. "What should we make for him, for dinner?" We can't make anything heavy cause we had soup at lunch and he couldn't even keep that down, so…" He began opening the cabinets, looking through the shelves. "Maybe we should just heat up some broth?"

"Yeah, I don't know," she said offhandedly. She pulled herself up onto the counter and sat, watching him. "I'm not good at taking care of other people. What did you do when your kids got sick?"

"Looked for my wife?" he suggested dubiously. "He's been coughing all afternoon, maybe I'll just bring him some ice cream."

"Okay," she said distractedly. "Listen, Niccolo, I came down here cause I wanted to let you know about something."

"Let me know about what?"

"Well, Black Hawk seems to have picked up on some of the vibes between you and the Kid, enough so that he's feeling a little threatened." She shrugged, making a face. "I don't think he's homophobic, but he's got it in his head that you and he are going to go to a bar tomorrow night and have some great time while he basically proves or disproves your masculinity…"

Machiavelli stood frozen halfway through scooping the ice cream. "What?" he asked, understanding but not really understanding anything she'd just said.

"Black Hawk's just bummed out because Billy's closer to you than to him now," Scatty said patiently. "He wants you to go out and hit up a lot of women so that he'll feel better."

"But I don't want to go to a bar with Black Hawk. He's going to make me do hyper-masculine things…"

"Well, here's why I wanted to talk to you," she said thoughtfully. "Obviously don't do the things you aren't comfortable with, but I think you should go out with him. We can only hide you so many times in Nora's apartment. And Black Hawk's sure to blab all about the night."

"You're still trying to make him jealous? He's got a fever of over a hundred. I doubt he's paying attention to what I do."

"Oh, Mac, he's always paying attention to you."

"You really think so?" Part of him felt that Scatty was just being nice to him, but another part of him- the hopeful part- felt a flicker of heat spark in his heart. He grinned either way. "I could be good for him, couldn't I? I make him laugh."

Scatty nodded, her eyes crinkled. "I think you would."

"I, maybe- I think that sometime I will ask him if he loved me," Machiavelli said, stumbling over the words, but feeling a warm sensation of confidence fill him up. "I know I move slow, I'm sorry Scatty."

"It's okay," she told him, touching down. "You're just cautious."

The ice cream seemed to help a little. Billy ate it, and managed to keep it down, as he watched one of his shows. Finally, when the outlaw's head was bobbing and the bowl seemed to be in danger of falling to the ground, Machiavelli pulled it gently out of his hand and set it aside. He and Scatty dragged the Kid upstairs.

"Billy, caro, I think I'm going to sleep down here with Scatty, at least for tonight," Machiavelli said, glancing from American immortal to American immortal. He indicated the futon that Scathach was already sitting on.

Billy blinked. He looked confused. "Why? Oh… cause I'm sick?" He coughed into his elbow. "Yeah… I guess that does make sense."

"It's nothing personal," the Italian immortal continued earnestly. "It's just that I want you to be able to get better and I want to be well enough to take care of you in the meantime."

"No, no, that's fine, Mac. I just like having you nearby…"

Machiavelli sat on the edge of their bed. Reaching out, he smoothed the hair away from Billy's face. Under his fingers, he could feel the heat radiating off of his American friend. Billy leaned in to the touch, clinging to his arm like it was a lifeline. Standing over him, Niccolo felt his paternal instincts overwhelm all other feeling in his body.

Perhaps Scatty could tell that he was losing his resolve because she stepped in at that point. "He'll be right here, still, kid," she pointed out. Tossing over their extra pillow, she helped Machiavelli prop the other man up in the bed.

"You might find that you like having the bed to yourself again," Machiavelli pointed out softly. Bending over the Kid, he rubbed Billy's cheek with his thumb. "Let me give you a kiss- you look awful William."

"I don't know if I want to live, if I can't be beautiful," Billy joked weakly. He let the Italian kiss him on his temple. Machiavelli laughed and couldn't help himself- he threw his arms around Billy's shoulders, pulling him into a hug.

Easing back, the Kid squirmed slightly; his discomfort was apparently too great. Shifting around, they could hear him moan, then roll on to his side. Finally, he made himself comfortable (apparently) by lying on his stomach with his feet on the pillow and his body angled towards them. "Hey, guys," he said in a muffled voice.

Scatty arched her back like a cat. "Oh, Billy, what are you doing up there?"

"Everything stings," he mumbled. Propping his head up, he peered at them through the dark. "Don't you think you guys are sleeping awfully close together?"

Scathach glanced behind her, then scooted even closer to the Italian immortal. "What's it to you?"

"Well, it's just that you have all that space on both sides of you. Don't you want to," he made a motion with his hands, "move apart?"

She sat up. "Billy, are you suggesting we leave room for Jesus?"

Machiavelli let out an undignified snort. They both looked over at him. Covering his mouth slightly, he bit his finger to stop himself from laughing. "I'm sorry, I've just never heard that expression before."

"You're just jealous, cause I get to sleep with the hunk tonight?"

"You're damn right I am," he crowed, banging his fist against the side of the bed. "He's my hunk. Don't you damage him!"

"I'll return him in roughly the same condition I got him in," she said saucily back.

They waited for Billy's cutting reply but instead heard a soft snoring.

"Think he's comfy like that?" Machiavelli asked. Scatty shrugged. Bending forward, Machiavelli pushed Billy's arm back onto the bed so that it wouldn't go numb. Leaning back, he laid down again beside the Shadow, pulling the blankets up. "Good night."


	50. Chapter 50

The futon was rather uncomfortable for Machiavelli. He couldn't tell if it was because the bedding itself was not comfortable, or if it was because he was so tall that his legs hung off the end of the mattress when he lay straight. Early in the morning, he got up, unable to stay another minute in it.

Standing, he found that Billy had apparently shifted around some in the night. He still lay with his feet on his pillow, but he'd straightened out some now which made it much easier for Machiavelli to climb in beside him. He changed his mind about what he'd do next; originally, he'd thought of going downstairs to sleep on the couch, but now he untangled the blankets from where they'd been wrapped haphazard around the Kid's frame. Covering Billy with the blankets, he retrieved his pillow and put it at the bottom of the bed. It felt strange to be turned around in the bed, but at least, he told himself, he could now sleep without being folded in half. He fell asleep within a half hour.

When he woke up again, sunlight was streaming into the room. Glancing to his side, he found Billy watching him.

"Hey," Billy said immediately, looking rather guilty that he'd been caught. He rubbed Machiavelli's forearm roughly. "Couldn't stay away?"

The Italian snorted. "Couldn't sleep on that damn futon of yours any longer. I'm over six feet tall." He snuffled and turned on his side. "How are you feeling today?" he asked kindly. He touched Billy's forehead, feeling for a temperature. The American immortal still seemed hot, but then he always did- Machiavelli was going to have to get the thermometer out to be sure.

"A little better," the Kid rasped. He cleared his throat experimentally and it cleared up a bit. He blinked slowly, getting used to the light in the room. Machiavelli couldn't help it- he lovingly stroked the American immortal's face. He opened his mouth, then closed it resolutely. "What's the matter?' Billy asked, blinking dolefully at him. He stretched out his legs, accidentally kicking Machiavelli in the knee. "Sorry."

"Apparently Black Hawk wants to go out tonight."

"Why's that a problem?"

Machiavelli shrugged slightly. "He wants me to come with him."

"Why you?" Billy coughed again. "Sorry, that's not what I meant. I just meant…"

"Black Hawk and I don't spend a lot of time together, no," Machiavelli agreed, knowing exactly why Billy was surprised. Given what Scatty had told him the night before, it didn't take a lot of intuition to know why the Native American immortal wanted to bring him out, but he didn't repeat these thoughts to the American. "But he asked if I'd go with him tonight and," he shrugged helplessly, "I agreed."

Billy ran a hand through his hair, processing. "Well, there's nothing wrong with that Mac. Unless you don't want to go?" He looked up at the Italian immortal. Again, Machiavelli shrugged a little.

"I was going to keep you company," Machiavelli reminded him.

"Is everyone going?"

"No, just me and Black Hawk. Not even Billie or Fred…"

"Oh." Billy yawned. "Well, you should go out with him. No, I mean it. You've been taking care of me for days. When's the last time you got to go out and have fun? Just- just come home tonight, you will, won't you?"

"Where else would I go?"

Billy shrugged himself but he looked wistful. Bending over, he dissolved into a coughing fit. Machiavelli watched him, feeling helpless. Slipping out of bed, he grabbed a bottle of water he'd been drinking from the night before and held it out to the American. Billy took it with muffled thanks.

"Well, why don't we go downstairs?" Machiavelli suggested, running a hand through his hair. He checked his watch, noting the time.

"Good morning," Scatty called, looking up as they came downstairs. They joined her at the front window, Billy sitting immediately at the window seat.

"Mornin'," he said back.

"Did I offend you last night?"

"Hm?" Machiavelli asked, looking through their latest issue of his French magazine.

"Why'd you leave me in the middle of the night? I've got a reputation to protect, you know."

"Oh, pardon, the futon is too short for me. I was rather uncomfortable."

"I thought I was just irresistible," Billy interjected, looking out at the street below.

"Yeah, that must be it," Scatty said sarcastically. "You must have been pretty uncomfortable to crawl into bed with Miss Typhoid here…" The Shadow was talking, but her audience had lost a lot of its focus on her as a twenty something girl walked by them wearing skimpy jean cutoffs and a tank top. Both Machiavelli and Billy stared after the girl as she walked down the street. The female immortal snapped her fingers in front of them. "I hate to interrupt your drooling time, but I was talking, you know."

Billy shook his head like a dog getting dry. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. Machiavelli echoed his sentiments. "I was just thinking that she must be awfully cold out there. It's November now," he said emphatically.

"Yeah, I'm sure you were worried for her welfare," she said, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

"I was," he said slyly, grinning at her.

"You know, I expect this from you," Scatty told the American immortal. "But I thought he," she jerked her head at Machiavelli, "would have a little more decorum."

Machiavelli turned a faint shade of pink, but Billy laughed. "Fair enough."

"I matured, ah, a little later in life," Machiavelli explained. He rushed to move the conversation along. "What were you saying Scathach?"

"I was saying how touched I was to be included on your continuing adventures," Scatty said somewhat acridly. She blew some of her short hair out of her eyes. "Now that I'm here though, I'm beginning to realize that I'm just here to scare off your crazy neighbor girls."

"Oh, that's not the reason at all," Billy said, squeezing her hand. He got up out of his seat and attempted to pull her up too. "You know we both love you. Now, come on, dance with me."

"Billy, I don't know-" Scathach began, but Machiavelli unceremoniously pushed her to her feet, grinning sweetly at her. He took the seat she'd vacated so that she couldn't sit down again. She sighed, but clasped hands with the American immortal and was promptly drawn closer. "What do you have planned today?"

"Nothing. But Machiavelli's got an appointment to be waxed today."

"Billy!"

"Oh, sorry, was that supposed to be a secret?" Billy grinned and spun Scatty in a wide circle.

"What are you going to get waxed?" Scatty asked with interest, looking back at Machiavelli and waggling her eyebrows. Machiavelli just shook his head and crossed his legs, refusing to answer.

"To look at the last bill, everything."

"It's just that as a Mediterranean man, I need to wax regularly," the Italian mumbled darkly. "I don't enjoy being hairy."

Billy actually pish-poshed at him. "You were hardly hairy before. He just had a bit of a happy trail. You know what I mean?" He motioned at his own naval, pointing suggestively.

"Billy!"

The outlaw finished up their dance by dipping Scatty.

Surreptitiously, Niccolo checked out Billy as the outlaw banged his way around room. Glancing at Scatty, he saw her give him a knowing look, but thankfully did not comment either to him or to Billy about it. He was going to have to be more careful, he thought ruefully to himself. _'No wonder Black Hawk's on to me.'_

"And then I have to go out with Black Hawk tonight," he told her.

She sat down next to him again. "Well, you don't have to go."

"Nah, I should go, I think," he said idly.

She bumped shoulders with him. "A full body wax is not going to be a plus in your column when you're trying to prove your masculinity to Black Hawk."

"I realize that, but an appointment's an appointment. Unless you think I could get Billy to take it and I'll reschedule?" They watched the Kid sneeze so hard that he took two steps back and wobbled. Billy let out a moan, grabbing a fistful of tissues, and blotting at his face. "Yeah, that seems unlikely. You'll keep him company tonight, won't you?"

"Sure. Me and Fred."

~MB~

"You picked the dirtiest bar you could find, didn't you?" Machiavelli yelled in Black Hawk's ear, after taking one sweeping glance at the placed they'd just walked into.

"I've seen worse," the other immortal yelled back. Seizing the Italian immortal around the shoulders, he plunged in, dragging Machiavelli through a slurry of tables and chairs, around a pool table laden down with drinks, and over to a dimly lit bar where he got them both a beer. "Bottles are clean though," he said, beaming.

"You've got a lot of nerve," Machiavelli told him, but there was no malice in his voice. They turned, leaning against the counter. Machiavelli surveyed the room.

' _Then again,'_ Machiavelli thought. _'Perhaps Black Hawk chose this particular establishment for the number of women found in it.'_

"Want to make a bet?" the Native American drawled, breaking into his thoughts with a nudge.

"For what?" Machiavelli asked suspiciously.

"Hmm…" Black Hawk thought about it. "What would be valuable for you? Ah. For information." He gave the other man a lopsided grin.

"You know me well. Okay, what's your bet?"

"I bet that I can get more numbers than you can in the first hour."

Machiavelli felt like it was a poor idea to take this bet, but at the same time… he saw the look of bold bravado on the Native American's face. _'He thinks I'll turn him down.'_ "Deal," he said instead.

"Good man." Black Hawk clapped him on the shoulder, knocking him forward a step. He glanced at his watch. "Okay, it's 9:45 now. At 10:45, we meet back at this spot to see who wins. No cheating."

"I wouldn't dream of it." He took another sip of his drink before wandering into the crowd. Almost immediately, he thought, ' _I shouldn't have accepted this bet. Oh well, might as well have fun…'_

"Pardon," he said, approaching a table surrounded by women. Adopting the fakest Italian accent he could, he spoke with the same cadence that he'd heard many 'Italian' characters on the television used. Exaggerating his native accent made him smile and he almost gave up, afraid he'd start laughing at any moment. "I was supposed to meet my American friend here, but I can't a-find him. I wonder if I can buy you bella ladies a drink…"

They giggled and crowded around him. Deliberately slowing down his speech, he asked several touristy questions. He listened carefully as they kindly and adamantly told him information he knew was false. Suppressing his instinct to correct their creative interpretation of modern democracy, he smiled flirtatiously. At the end of the drink, "seeing" his friend, he tactfully suggested that he collect one of their phone numbers and immediately received five napkins which he pocketed with thanks.

He made his way through the haze, now slightly grateful that Black Hawk had picked a place where their actions would be masked by the flood of activity around them. Sitting at a little table by the dance floor, he nursed his beer and was soon approached by a woman in form-fitting leggings and a halter top.

Several numbers later, he reflected that he was actually enjoying himself. Somehow, hamming it up as an Italian tourist with a tenuous grasp of the English language had a way of freeing him from his normal reservations. He felt a little bit bad about deceiving the women- he had no intention of calling any of these women, but resolved to himself that he was also the least likely among all of the people in the bar to hurt them.

The particularly strange part, he felt, was the number of women who wanted to take a picture with him. He couldn't imagine what particular charm was working in his favor tonight- perhaps the fact that he was the only man wearing suit or the five minutes he spent, patiently teaching Italian to a giggly group of college girls, who dissolved into laughter at almost anything he said.

In fact, when 10:45 rolled around, he was still caught in a conversation with a young woman; it was, in fact, the first intelligent conversation he'd had all night and he was loathe to part with this woman. Overall, he'd found that Americans were often kind and friendly, but close minded on issues of importance; this woman was a nice reminder that some were still not only capable of profound thought, but also reveled in it.

It was Black Hawk, therefore, who came to find him. Glancing up, Machiavelli was quick to introduce him and offer a seat. Black Hawk drew a seat and rubbed at a rough spot on the table with his thumb. After a half hour more of conversation, she got up to leave.

"Okay, let's count," Black Hawk said as they watched her head out the door.

Machiavelli took a stack of napkins out of his right pocket. Cutting the other man off before he could say anything, he pulled another stack out of his pants pocket and tossed it on top of the other one with a sly grin cutting across his face. He downright beamed when he beat Black Hawk out by two numbers.

"Alright, you won fair and square. But now I have another challenge for you."

"I think this one bet was enough," Machiavelli protested.

"Nah, don't do that. The night's still young!" Black Hawk sorted through the numbers until he got to the last one that Machiavelli had been talking to. "Call her," he urged, pushing it towards him.

Machiavelli opened his mouth to object, then realized that the Native American immortal actually thought that Machiavelli had been interested in this girl and that he wasn't actually acting maliciously. ' _Merda, how do I get out of this?'_ "I don't think so," he stuttered, blushing.

"Come on Niccolo, you're a good looking guy. Have some fun." Black Hawk swiveled in his seat. "Okay, we'll come back to that. I'll keep this for you, for safe keeping," he added, pocketing the last napkin. They dumped the rest of the numbers into a nearby trash bin. "Fine, you won't do that challenge. So I've got something better in mind…"

Machiavelli had a feeling he wasn't going to like what the Native American was going to say next and wished that he had obliged the man on his other request. He could have gotten out of that one, on his own time. But this… "You have nothing more that I could want."

"Not true," Black Hawk countered, pointing to him. "If I lose this bet, I will never force you to make a bet with me again… this year, at least."

"Oh my god, that's tempting!" Machiavelli moaned. "Damn it all."

"Okay, at least hear my bet." He bent over and whispered it in the Italian's ear.

"Oh, absolutely not."

"Come on."

"No."

"Agree to this bet and I won't have to come up with one for all of the fifty six remaining days of the year…"

"You don't scare me."

"Hmm… Hey, why don't we eat everything fried on the menu?" Black Hawk suggested, looking at the menu above the bar and hitting Machiavelli in the shoulder. "They do fried pickles- who would believe?"

"What do you win if you win the bet?"

Black Hawk paused. He almost seemed to have not considered that eventuality. "I win… I'd just be happy to see you try. So you might say that you have everything to win and nothing to lose."

Machiavelli furrowed his brow. It seemed like the Native American immortal had painted him into a corner this time. "Alright," he sighed, totally against this particular idea. "What's our time frame?"

"None. We don't leave until we accomplish this."

Machiavelli winced. "What if I were to just go home?"

"I'd haunt you for the rest of your life."

Machiavelli got out of his seat wearily. He was glad that in the time they'd been talking, most of the women he'd initially talked to were now elsewhere. ' _This task is going to make me seem like a real asshole,'_ he thought, entering the dance floor.

Catching the eye of a pretty girl, he made small talk for several minutes. Not knowing a better way to do it, he flat out asked her. The resounding slap he received was not wholly unexpected, he reflected, apologizing and moving on.

' _Black Hawk's probably laughing his ass off watching me,'_ he thought savagely, drying off his shirt after his next attempt failed.

Several other tries ended in varying degrees of failure. He began to realize, as the night wore on, it was less about asking and more about accomplishing. His heightened sense of morality too, was an uncomfortable barrier he was having trouble jumping over.

Finally, long after they'd passed midnight, he was able to do it. Feeling kind of gross about himself, he decided he'd spend time with one more girl, just to reach out to one person without any underlying motivations.

Recognizing one of the girls near him as someone he'd spoken to before, he danced closer to her. She smiled at him, giving a little wave. "You're back," she said. "Did you ever find your friend?"

"Si, but he's with someone right now… I thought you had moved on to somewhere else." He searched his memory for her name. "It was Jill, wasn't it?"

She lit up a little and he felt bad for deceiving her. "You remembered! Good memory."

"Well, I couldn't forget someone as pretty as you." He gestured around the room. "You like coming here?"

She leaned in, yelling in his ear, to be heard over the music. "It's kind of a dive, but the beer's cheap and I have fun. Not some place I go when I'm looking for something serious though…"

He felt a rush of relief. "Bene. Good. I wouldn't want to hurt you, but to be honest… I already have my heart set on someone else."

"Why'd you come out here then?" she asked curiously. Pulling him off the dance floor, she found a little corner near the front where there wasn't a lot of people.

He scratched his ear. "My friend wanted me to come. He doesn't… I'm not sure if he knows or not, but… I don't think he wants me to be in love with the person I am. So he wanted me to kind of get out here tonight, prove myself."

"How about the person you love? Does she know?"

He laughed. "No. No, Billy's not aware of it."

She startled in surprise. "Oh. I'm sorry, I just…"

"It's okay," he assured her. "Surprises everyone. Surprised me."

"So why are you spending the night with me then?"

He colored. "My friend's been giving me a lot of stupid challenges tonight… I don't want to tell you this one."

She laughed. "No, tell me."

The blush traveled across his face and onto the corners of his ears. "He wants me to get some lady's underwear," he mumbled.

Again, she laughed. "I'm sure he didn't phrase it quite that way. Well… I'll help you."

"You'll what?"

"I'll help you." She looked around. Seeing the bathroom, she patted his arm. "Stay here I'll come back."

"You don't have to do that," he called. "I already…" But she'd been swallowed by the crowd and, _she thinks she's helping me,_ he thought, so he when she came back he didn't say anything besides a muffled thanks.

Rubbing his hand, she gave him a small smile, looking a little embarrassed but still quite pleased with herself. "Good luck with both your friends." She joined her friends again.

Machiavelli headed for the back of the bar. Finding Black Hawk, he gestured to the contents of his pockets and jerked his head towards the door, pleading with him to let them leave. "Ready to go? I can't believe you did it," Black Hawk laughed. He pulled Machiavelli out of the bar.

"I got slapped twice," Machiavelli complained, straightening his shirt. "And one woman dumped her drink on me. I probably deserved it too."

"I can't believe you did it twice."

"Well, after the first one…" He looked sideways at the Native American. "I saw you sitting in the corner at one point; you weren't even trying."

"No," he admitted. "I just wanted to see if you could do it. Sorry about your suit. But, who would have thought you had it in you?" Black Hawk crowed, slapping him on the shoulder.

Machiavelli moved more quietly, carefully picking his way in the semi-darkness of an ill-lit road. "Who indeed?"

"You sly old dog, Billy's going to laugh himself silly when he hears about this…"

Machiavelli himself was wondering what the American immortal might feel when he heard about what they'd done that night. He hoped feverishly that the Kid was asleep when they got back to the house… he needed some time to sort out his own emotions before confronting those of Billy's.

Black Hawk continued to yammer, seeming to not notice the general silence of his companion.

"Black Hawk," Machiavelli broke in, at last. "Why'd you bring me out tonight?"

The Native American paused. Tilting his head, he was silent for half a block, thinking it over. "I mean," Machiavelli hastened to continue, "It's not that we aren't friends, but we are also not very close friends. I thought maybe you wanted to talk about something…" _Like what you're thinking about when you look at me and Billy together._

"Oh, I don't know. You've been cooped up with Billy these past couple of days. I figured I'd spring you from your prison." He bumped shoulders with the Italian immortal, in a show of masculine solidarity.

"I haven't minded being with Billy," Machiavelli countered cautiously. "I missed him when he went away… I got used to him being around, I suppose."

"Yeah, that's what he was saying," Black Hawk muttered.

Machiavelli opened his mouth and closed it again. He wanted to ask, ' _what are you afraid of?'_ but he felt this might be too personal for them. Still, he had the feeling deep within him that Black Hawk wasn't as oblivious as their outlaw friend, and that even if Black Hawk wasn't aware of it yet, that he didn't and wouldn't approve of a relationship between Machiavelli and Billy.

Looking up at the quarter moon above them, Machiavelli decided to work his way back around to the conversation. "Nora doesn't mind you going out and meeting all those ladies?"

Black Hawk shrugged. "We've never been committed. She doesn't want any more than she already gets from me…"

Machiavelli didn't think he could maintain an open relationship himself; he understood how it might appeal to Black Hawk and to Billie Holiday, both extremely independent people, but he… he wouldn't want that for himself. "Is Billy ever in relationships?"

Black Hawk considered it. "He tends to avoid them." Machiavelli's heart sank right through the sidewalk. They stopped at a busy intersection. "Whenever he is in a relationship, he really goes for it though. But when those break up, he tends to go on a spree… Let's go now," he added. They ran across as soon as there was a break in the traffic. Slowing back to their usual pace, they turned onto a road that the Italian recognized at last.

Machiavelli thought that was all he was going to get from the Native American immortal, but Black Hawk kept talking. "He had a few women that he really loved back before he was immortalized, but he was really young back then and I hadn't met him until years later. I thought he might leave it there, but he did seem to spark to some girl up North… that was fifty years ago. He's pretty committed to the plan not to mix with mortals though. So he came down here."

"I heard about that," Machiavelli said lightly. "Then he started dating a bunch of women, didn't he?"

"Well, I wouldn't call it dating," Black Hawk said with a wolf's smile. Niccolo felt as if his stomach turned around a couple of times. This whole conversation seemed to be a mistake. "But yeah, he slept with a whole string of women. Billy's not at all like me," he admitted in a rare moment of total honesty. "He's not really the type to do that sort of thing. "

"No, I can't see Billy continuing that," Machiavelli acknowledged. He jammed his hands into his suit pockets; it was getting pretty cold now and he wished he'd remembered his jacket now more than ever. "Still, that seems like a pretty low number for our Kid."

"Well, he slept around a little from time to time, but everybody's got needs. I don't think there was a lot of expectation on either side's part from those…unions." They turned on to their road. "Did you have fun tonight?"

"I'm not sure."

Black Hawk laughed. "Well, I hope you did. At least we're home now. It's getting cold out here."


	51. Chapter 51

"You're still up?" Black Hawk called, sauntering into the living room.

Fred and Scathach looked up. Reaching for the remote, she paused their movie. "Got sucked into another movie. Why, what time is it?"

"It's half past two," Machiavelli groaned. Sitting carefully, he began to unlace his shoes, dropping his dress shoes to the ground, rubbing his feet. "I thought we were never going to get home…"

"Oh, you're watching Rocky," Black Hawk interrupted, plopping down in between them. "Which one though?"

"The fourth one," Fred told him, starting it again.

"Well, I'm going to go to bed," Niccolo decided.

"Not going to watch it with us?"

"I think not. Goodnight," he called, getting to his feet wearily.

"Night."

"Goodnight," Scatty said, leaning back. "Billy's probably asleep. Try not to wake him?"

"Of course," he said smoothly. Gathering his shoes, he ascended the steps slowly, his legs aching. Machiavelli tried to open the door to his bedroom as noiselessly as possible, assuming Billy was asleep by now. He was very startled therefore when the Kid sat up. "Billy? Why are you still up?" he asked, coming around the bed to sit by the American's side.

"Wanted to… see you… when you came in," Billy said slowly, sounding tired.

"You shouldn't have done that," Machiavelli whispered. He couldn't help but run a hand down the side of the Kid's face. "You need your sleep. I'm sorry, William."

"S'okay, I just wanted to see you before I went to sleep." Billy blinked. "Did you have fun? I thought you'd never get home…"

Machiavelli held up a hand, rocking it back and forth in an imitation of what Billy often did to show indecision. "Yes. And no. It's been a long night. I've got to change."

"If you don't want to go into the bathroom, I can close my eyes," Billy offered.

"You don't have to close your eyes. It's pretty dark in here right now." Machiavelli began to undo his tie. Absently, he emptied his suit pockets, realizing his mistake too late. He tried to stuff the panties back into his pocket, but Billy had been watching him; he snagged them from Machiavelli.

Holding them between two fingers, he looked at them without comprehension before addressing his companion. "Why?" he asked, handing them back to the Italian. A curious expression was on his face. Perhaps it was the dark, but Machiavelli couldn't decipher its meaning.

"A stupid dare from Black Hawk," Niccolo sighed. "He's got the crazy idea that we're in love," indicating himself and the Kid. He forced himself to laugh, to show that he thought the idea was ludicrous. "I spent the whole night doing stupid things…"

"Why does… why does he think we're in love?" Billy questioned, interrupting himself with a coughing fit halfway through his inquiry.

Machiavelli shrugged, not wanting to go into it. "Don't know…"

"You didn't have to do those things."

"Mm, I probably shouldn't have, but they were kind of goofy and actually some of them were fun- some were humiliating- I guess I just thought…"

Billy cut in, squeezing his hand. "You don't have to prove anything to Black Hawk or to anybody else. I…" He stopped. Machiavelli didn't have any inkling what he might say; he stayed silent, wondering what Billy would reveal. The American shrugged, making a noise of frustration. "Black Hawk shouldn't be asking you to do these things," he burst out at last, before succumbing to a coughing fit.

Machiavelli pulled him completely upright, letting the Kid lean against him for support. Billy's whole body shuddered; Niccolo could feel him as he drew in air, shivering with effort. "Billy," he said aghast, "have you been like this all night?"

He shook his head quickly, finally getting the spasms under control. "No. No, I was just… No. Mac." He collapsed onto the Italian's shoulder. Machiavelli ran both hands down his back, gently massaging the area behind his lungs. He rocked gently. "So what kind of things did you guys do?" Billy mumbled into his ear, calming.

Niccolo eased Billy down, grabbing his hips to pull him down a little in the bed. He yanked the comforter out from under the Kid's body, pulling it up around his shoulders. "We spent an hour seeing who could get the most phone numbers from ladies."

"Did you win?"

"Of course." Machiavelli had to grin. He ducked his head, slightly embarrassed. Exaggerating his accent, he queried, "who could resist a handsome Italian like myself?"

Billy wheezed. "Who, indeed?" He sobered quickly. "How'd you get the panties?"

Machiavelli shook his head. Getting up, he began to unbutton his shirt. "That was hour two's bet. He kind of blackmailed me into accepting the bet… But you wanted to know how I got the underwear? Well, to be honest," he took the second pair of panties out and tossed them to the American. "I can be very persuasive when I want to be." He stepped out of his pants and kicked them aside.

Billy slipped out of the covers again, crawling down to the bottom of the bed where he sat beside Machiavelli, watching him undo the garters on his socks. "Persuasive how?"

Niccolo stalled, not really wanting to tell Billy that he'd slipped into a dark corner of the bar, not wanting to say how she'd straddled his lap. Standing up straight, he shrugged. "I got the second pair without trying. I explained to her what was going on and she… gave them to me."

"You just asked for them and they gave them to you?"

"Well, sort of with the second one… but the first one… she was a little bit of work to get them… I- I don't really like talking about it, Billy."

"Sorry."

"No, it's not your fault," Machiavelli began to say. He moved his lips back and forth, thinking. Giving his head a shake, he moved around the bed and climbed in.

"You're not putting on pajamas?"

"I think the alcohol's giving me the impression I'm warmer than I am. Or maybe it's your fever, spreading heat waves through the room." Machiavelli shifted over and groaned, laying down. "I can put on some pants, if you would like?"

"Nah, it's okay." Billy looked over at the Italian immortal, then back up at the ceiling. "Mac?"

"Mm?"

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

' _Why not, I've already put myself pretty far out there tonight.'_ He opened his eyes. "You may, but I reserve the right to not answer…"

"Did you have sex tonight?"

Machiavelli was surprised at Billy's forwardness, but then again, this was Billy the Kid. "No," he said immediately. "Well… no."

"That's not a very definite answer."

"Depends on your definition of sex," Machiavelli muttered, his face heating up.

Billy rolled over and pushed himself up into a crouch. "What's your definition then?"

"Well, if you're talking about penetrative sex, then no, I did not. However, there are some sexual acts which one might construe as a form of sex and then I guess I would ask you if you thought that-"

"That's okay," the Kid said quickly. He laid back down. And got back up again. "You fingered her?" he suggested uncertainly.

"A bit…"

"How much is a bit?" the American immortal demanded, _rather aggressively_ , Machiavelli thought to himself.

The Italian immortal thought of Black Hawk's words. _'He doesn't have relationships. He has needs. Well, so do I.'_ "Enough to get her to give me her panties," he said abruptly. ' _You're never going to love me the way I want you to, are you?'_ he wanted to ask, but didn't.

"Oh." Billy might have said more, but they heard the others coming up the stairs. They both quieted, feigning sleep when Scathach came into the room. Billy rolled away from him, curling on his other side. He began to cough quietly. Niccolo reached out a hand to pat his back, but the Kid shied away from his touch.

Machiavelli felt terrible. He'd let his anger flare up- it had come so suddenly, he couldn't say from where it had come- and now he'd hurt his friend. _It's not his fault if he doesn't feel the way I do._ He resolved to apologize in the morning. Drifting into an uneasy slumber, he curled onto his side, one hand reaching out for the American immortal but not having the courage to try to touch him again.

Falling into an uneasy sleep, he dreamt that Billy decided to head off on his own again and he was left alone. Part of him knew that he was dreaming, but the other part of him ached with sadness. Flipping over in his sleep, he curled into a ball.

When he woke up the next morning, he found the other half of the bed empty, the blankets messed up. Coming so soon on the wings of his nightmare, Machiavelli felt panicky. Going downstairs, the Italian immortal found his youngest companion curled on the couch. He sighed in relief. "Billy, you didn't sleep down here, did you?" he asked, aghast.

"Just the last couple of hours," the Kid replied, putting down his book. He looked terrible- Machiavelli suspected he hadn't slept at all that night. "I didn't want to wake you and Scatty up, but my coughing was getting pretty bad."

"You should have woken me up," Niccolo chastised him. Hesitantly, he touched Billy's hand. The American immortal didn't recoil, as he had last night. "I dreamt you'd gone away," he admitted softly. "When I woke up, you were gone… I was so worried."

"Oh, Mac, I'm sorry," Billy apologized. Sitting up, he moved over so that the Italian immortal had room to sit down. "I thought I was doing you a favor."

"Next time, wake me up, really William." Machiavelli took Billy's hand, giving it a little squeeze. The Kid's hands were cold as ice; he raised Billy's hand to his lips, giving him a little kiss without thinking about it. "Listen, Billy, caro, I'm sorry if I was brusque last night. I was just a little frustrated with the way the night turned out…"

"S'okay. I asked a pretty personal question…"

"I'm worried about you, William. You don't look at all well." Pulling the bottom hem of the Kid's shirt up, he splayed his hand over the American immortal's heart. It thudded beneath his fingers. When Billy breathed in, he could feel the way his lungs shuddered. "Your heart's fine, but your lungs… are you having trouble breathing?"

"Just because I'm coughing so much," Billy said weakly. "I just took some medicine… It's getting better."

"Let me give you some of my aura," Machiavelli begged.

"Nah, let me see how I do today… Maybe tomorrow." He leaned against Machiavelli, apparently all disagreements forgotten. Drawing up his legs underneath him, he looked up at the Italian immortal shyly. "Will you read to me today?"

~MB~

"Are we all in for the night?" Scatty asked.

Fred glanced around the room. "I think so. You weren't planning on going anywhere tonight?" he asked Black Hawk.

The tall man shook his head. "No, but Billie's coming over."

The Kid straightened up, grinning faintly. "I'm already here."

The whole group groaned. "Billy, we've heard that joke so many times," Machiavelli complained. "Can't you come up with better material, at least?"

The Kid looked to his left. "Well, you named a dog after me so…" He chewed on his bread roll in triumph. Machiavelli shook his head.

"I was young," he said defensively. "And Black Hawk encouraged me," he added, indicating the immortal across from him.

"Ah buh buh. First of all, Mac, you were over five hundred years old, so don't give me that young crap. And second," he countered, ticking the points off on his fingers, "don't listen to anything Black Hawk tells you. He's chock full of bad ideas."

Black Hawk laughed, but Machiavelli, remembering the funny expression on Billy's face from last night, had a feeling that behind the outlaw's mild rebuke was something else. He wondered what emotion the American immortal was fighting with last night, and how he felt today.

"Hey, were you going to call that girl you spent the whole night talking to?" Black Hawk asked casually.

Machiavelli started. So did Billy, though the American immortal didn't say anything; still, Machiavelli could tell that he was listening. _Black Hawk, you're killing me._ "Oh, I don't know," he answered, startled. "I hadn't really thought of it."

Billy's head swiveled back and forth between Black Hawk and him. Knowing this was still a touchy subject (though why, he couldn't imagine), Niccolo put a hand on the Kid's back. "I didn't really have any plans to, no." He felt- imagined?- that Billy relaxed a little under his hand.

"How are you feeling tonight?" he added, pushing the attention off of him and onto Billy. "Better than this morning?"

"No, not really." Billy looked glum. "I told Fred that if I wasn't better by now, he could bring me to a shaman he knows…"

"Ah, the tides have turned," Machiavelli said somewhat gleefully, despite his worry for the American immortal, remembering his own unfortunate doctor's visit earlier that year and how the outlaw had forced him to attend. "I can't say I'm sorry."

"What is this, pay back?" Billy complained. "You were actually sick. I'm going to get over this in a day or so." He tried and failed to suppress a cough.

"You're going to go," Black Hawk said impatiently. He stole some of Billy's fries, then seemed to think better of it. He tossed them back on the plate, brushing his fingers off on his napkin.

"I'll go with you," Machiavelli offered. "If you want the company, that is…"

"If you're willing to drive, I think I'll stay out there after we figure out what's up with our handsomest friend," Fred said casually.

Billy froze, mid bite. "What? You're staying out there?" The words came out muffled, food obviously still in his mouth and Machiavelli nudged him impatiently. He swallowed ungainly.

"Didn't Black Hawk tell you? We finalized plans for me to move out to the reservation the other day. I'm helping them write their histories down for posterity." He smiled at the outlaw, but Billy still seemed to be processing. His smile faded just slightly. "Bill, it's not forever. You know I'm never happy in the city."

"Yes, but…" Billy sounded like he was close to crying and Machiavelli looked over sharply, surprised at the emotionality of his happy-go-luck friend. "We just barely got to see each other after all this time…"

Fred caught Machiavelli's eye momentarily. The Italian remembered the conversation they'd had days earlier and bent over his plate. He knew that Fred had hastened his departure to give him more wiggle room with Billy, _but did he want it? Or should he just give up?_ "We spent a month together," the Chickasaw immortal pointed out gently.

The doorbell rang. "That's probably Billie," Black Hawk said quickly, throwing his napkin on the table and getting up.

"I've missed you," Billy said mournfully, staring across the table at Fred. "I thought you were dead…"

Fred laughed slightly. "Oh, Billy, I missed you too, all those years. There's no one like you. But it's not the worst thing in the world, me going away for a bit. It's not like you're losing Niccolo… I know he's your favorite…" He winked at the outlaw.

Billy looked over at the Italian. He opened his mouth.

"Gang's all here. Jeez," Billie said loudly, leading the way into the room. She plopped down on the Kid's right. Turning to him, she held his chin. "Black Hawk informs me that you're currently dying?"

He nodded. "He informed you correctly. I might already be dead, actually… Did you know that Fred was leaving us?" he added aggressively.

"I did, I did."

"Well, we should do something tonight," he added sulkily. "To celebrate that he's still with us."

"Before he passes on, you mean?"

"It has to be something relatively low key," Machiavelli cut in. Scatty nodded next to him. "Billy's not well at all."

"There goes my plans for naked mud wrestling," she drawled.

"Our plans to jump into the Schuylkill," he countered, his eyes gleaming as amusement crowded out sadness.

"Extreme ironing."

"What?" Billy laughed, the spell broken.

"It's a daring new sport."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"I'm not." She grabbed the last bit of Black Hawk's burger. "You can also roll down hills in a gigantic clear plastic ball called a… Zorb? I recommend an empty stomach."

"Well, we're not doing any of those things," Machiavelli interrupted, because Billy was looking far too intrigued for someone who couldn't even breathe when he was sitting down. "Fred got some of the games down from the study upstairs. Why don't we do that?"

"Lame," Billie told him, but the male Billy agreed readily, suggesting that he was perhaps a little bit more aware of his limits than the previous conversation had alluded to.

Clearing the dinner table, they let Fred choose the first game. Black Hawk heavily weighed in and after some conferencing between the two men, they decided to play Sorry, despite the fact that they had more players than was manageable.

"How malicious could this game get?" Machiavelli asked, moving his green pieces to the home place that Billy pointed out.

"So naïve," Scatty said, patting his hand. "Okay, you can't leave your start except if you get a 1 or a 2 or a sorry card, but the rest of the rules are pretty self-explanatory. You bump someone back to their home space if you land on a space with them."

"I don't think that's going to be a problem since I'm never getting out of my home," he said drily, turning over another twelve. "Oh shit," he added, watching Scatty split a seven to bump off both Fred and Billie.

Scatty got knocked out on his next turn when he drew a Sorry card. "I do like this game," he said, moving more of his pieces out on to the game.

"I thought it'd be a good one for someone as bloodthirsty as you," Fred offered up, a faint smile playing on the corners of his mouth.

"You could do… Wow, you really picked up on this fast," Black Hawk said, leaning back.

"This is a vicious game," Fred commented, getting sent back to his home for the umpteenth time. "You're all meaner than I am."

Machiavelli rolled his shoulders impatiently. "Meaner or just better?"

"Is that your phone ringing?" Billy asked him.

"I can't imagine it is… oh," he said, looking at it, "It is ringing. Hello?"

"Hi, this is Jill." She sounded nervous. "The girl from the bar last night? Bet you weren't expecting to hear from me."

He could hear the smile in her voice. "I can't say that I was. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm good… Hey listen, this is going to sound stupid, but I wanted to know if I could ask you a favor? It's nothing huge, well, at least not life threatening…" She babbled on. It reminded him of the Kid in an endearing sort of way. Nonetheless, he cut her off.

"I owe you for last night. What can I do?" It was his turn to play. Flipping over a card, he saw that he had nowhere to go and leaned back again, listening.

"Well…"

"It can't be any worse than what I asked you last night," he reminded her gently.

She laughed. "Okay, yeah no. That was pretty terrible," she admitted warmly. "But kind of fun for me. My friends think I'm a bit sluttier now though, but they always thought I was a prude, so it works in my favor. Anyways… I need a date for something and I know you're not interested in me, but I thought that might actually be a good thing. Cause it would get people off my back about finding someone, at least for a little while, and I wouldn't… Is this stupid?"

"No. No, I do owe you. Um…" Looking up he saw the whole group watching him; he got up and gave them a sardonic little wave, walking into the living room. "What kind of thing is this?"

She laughed nervously. "My parents are coming to visit for the first time in a couple of years and they've got it in their heads that I need to find a man, that I'm not getting any younger, or something like that… Listen, if you'd do it for me, we could just pretend that we just started dating, you wouldn't have to lie or anything, beyond the initial."

"I can do it," he said before he thought it through. "When is this?"

She exhaled. "This Saturday. Thank you! I'll buy you dinner!"

"It's nothing really," he said, already wondering what was wrong with him.

"And Niccolo?" He hummed to show he was listening. "What's your last name?"

' _Damn, my last name.'_ He didn't want to say Machiavelli; he had a feeling it was a little too well known. Even if people didn't believe that he was the same man, it would certainly raise red flags. "Bonney," he said quickly. "Niccolo… Bonney. Text me the details? Okay. Uh huh." He hung up.

Turning around, he got the shock of his life. "Billy, when did you get there!"

"Just did." Billy was leaning on the doorframe nervously. He tilted his head. "Who was it?"

"Girl from last night. Doing her a little favor," Machiavelli mumbled, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

"Why'd you give her my last name?"

"Thought mine might be too recognizable. Panicked. Sorry…"

"Niccolo Bonney," Billy repeated thoughtfully. A small smile curved on his lips. "Doesn't quite sound right, does it?" Machiavelli felt a little ache in his stomach begin to make itself known. Billy's smile faded. "Are you going out tonight?"

"No," Machiavelli said surprised. "Saturday night. Are we still playing the same game?"

"No, we just finished. I played in your stead. We lost. But anyways, the games over; we're starting anew one. That's what I came here to tell you. We thought we'd let you pick the next game since you were busy the last one…"

He ended up picking the game of Life. Per Scatty's suggestion, they moved into the living room, crowding around the coffee table. "This is going to take forever with six of us," Black Hawk complained, but Billie elbowed him in the stomach and he grudgingly fit his tiny blue person into the car they handed him. Machiavelli had to admit that it did seem a little ludicrous to force this huge man to manipulate these tiny game pieces. The sullen look on the Native American's face as he pushed his orange car around the board made him laugh involuntarily.

"Oh, you know what we should play?" Black Hawk said excitedly, the minute the last player (Billie) had passed her last payday. "Cards Against Humanity," he went on, without waiting, "Seeing as we didn't get to play it over the summer. This one wouldn't let us play because Machiavelli was 'too young,'" he explained to the jazz singer, jerking his head over to the Kid.

Billy blinked. "Hey, I just remembered. You were sick last time we played games. Guess we've come full circle."

"I guess so."

"Niccolo, pick the first black card," Scatty ordered, putting the stack in front of him.

Machiavelli looked at the group curiously before pulling a card off the top of the deck. "How bad could this be?" His face fell, reading the card. He cleared his throat, in his haste, reading the card in his soft Italian accent. "When all else fails, I can always masturbate to…" He jumped back a little when four cards immediately were slapped down in front of him. Waiting for Fred, he flipped over the cards in front of him. "Asians who aren't good at math."

"You have to read the whole thing," Scatty ordered, lying down on her stomach.

He sighed. "When all else fails, I can always masturbate to Asians who aren't good at math." There was an uproar of laughter. "When all else fails, I can always masturbate to…" Even he laughed. "Historical revisionism. This one."

"You should read all of them before choosing," Black Hawk began, but Billy leaned forward and swiped the black card.

"The man has spoken." Picking up the next black card, he read, "What's fun until it gets weird?"

Putting down a white card with 'the violation of our most basic human rights' on it, Machiavelli was pleased to win the round, but he was more pleased to show up Black Hawk, who shook his head darkly.

Scatty won the next round using the single word 'tongue,' to sweep the others, but Machiavelli soon showed a talent for the game. _His years of observing others seemed to be paying out in dividends_ , he thought bemusedly collecting his third card. _And why is Billy so quiet tonight?_


	52. Chapter 52

"Oh, Mac," Billy groaned, the next morning. His eyes were red rimmed- he looked awful. "I'm so tired, Mac. Please don't make me go."

"It'll be good for you," Machiavelli said as gently as he could, grabbing a pair of Billy's jeans and a Henley top. Throwing them on top of the Kid, he pulled him upright by his arms.

Billy's eyes were already closing; he couldn't seem to keep them open for anything. Swaying slightly, he went to lie down again- Machiavelli caught him before he could complete the motion. Sighing, the Italian immortal tugged impatiently at the shirt Billy was wearing, encouraging him to take the initiative on his own.

"Why can't I wear this shirt?"

"Billy, it's all sweaty. You must have a fever again." Giving up, Machiavelli pulled the shirt over his head and used it to wipe off the excess moisture from the Kid's chest. He handed him the fresh shirt.

Getting up- and stumbling slightly- Billy got the jeans on himself. Following Machiavelli downstairs, he traveled with a hand wrapped around the Italian's bicep at all times. Plopping down on the couch, he made no effort to put his boots on.

Machiavelli grabbed them and dragged them in front of the outlaw. "Purposefully being difficult or are you just almost dead?"

"Almost dead."

"Okay," he sighed. Kneeling in front of Billy, he slipped them on, pulling them over his jeans. He pushed himself up off the coffee table.

"Is he ready?" Black Hawk asked, poking his head in.

"I'd say so. He might need someone to throw him in the car though…"

"I'm up," Billy said reluctantly. He wrapped an arm around Fred's shoulder, noticing him behind Black Hawk for the first time since the other Native American had entered the room. "You're so much quieter than him. Why can't you be like this?" he asked frankly, glancing at Black Hawk through his long lashes.

"I'm cooler."

Billy turned a slight tinge of green when he saw they were heading for Black Hawk's Jeep, but the bigger immortal boosted him in surprisingly gently. Throwing a blanket over him, the dark skinned immortal climbed over the rest of the seats and sat down at the driver's seat.

Machiavelli scrambled into the other side of the backseat, not sure that Black Hawk wouldn't 'accidentally' take off on him as a joke.

It seemed that the American immortal was beyond all pretenses. As soon as Machiavelli climbed in next to him, Billy slunk down, leaning heavily on the Italian's chest. Wrapping an arm around him, Niccolo could feel the warmth coming off of his companion in waves.

"Better step on it, Black Hawk," he advised.

"Sure," the Native American immortal agreed. "You should get comfortable though, Billy. It's an hour and a half trip up to the reservation."

"That long?" He coughed.

"It's the closest Indian community around here," Fred explained, throwing an arm over the back of his seat so that he could look at Billy. "There aren't any federally recognized Indian reservations in Pennsylvania or most of the surround states. The nearest reservation is three hours away."

"So where are we going?"

"It's called the Eastern Lenape Nation of Pennsylvania."

Billy frowned in confusion, or surprise, Machiavelli couldn't tell. "I thought you'd be with a Chickasaw tribe…"

"There aren't any around here," Fred said patiently. "Get some rest Kid."

Billy complied. Sighing a little, he burrowed his head into Niccolo's chest. Stroking his hair, Machiavelli was slightly surprised at the intimacy of the moment. Even for Billy, it seemed unusual, especially since the Kid shied away from displays of affection in front of Black Hawk and Fred.

"I think he's asleep," Machiavelli mused quietly as they traveled into the countryside.

Black Hawk glanced back in his rear view mirror. "We hear him coughing, up in our room, at night. He must not be sleeping much."

"So, we're bringing him to a shaman?" Machiavelli asked curiously, trying to keep any traces of incredulity out of his voice. He knew that many of the Native American tribes actually possessed auric abilities and therefore was not surprised that this was their final choice. His curiosity stemmed from the newness of the experience. He'd never seen a healing ritual in action before, though he'd read quite a bit over the years about them.

He knew too, that Billy was sad to see his oldest friend go; Fred had been his companion long before either Black Hawk or Machiavelli had met him and Niccolo knew that for him, the departure of the Chickasaw immortal was much sadder.

They woke the Kid up an hour in to get some food in him. They slipped into a corner booth of a dusty old diner, Billy trying and failing to look totally awake as their waitress came for their order.

"Why didn't Scatty come?" Billy asked, looking around their group of men.

"The vampire thing," Black Hawk said over his mug of coffee. "We didn't know how they'd take to it."

"But Scatty shouldn't have to hide just because of who she is," the Kid argued, waking up a bit more because of pure indignation. "Nobody should have to hide themselves. We're all good people. They would see that."

"I agree, caro, but she felt this was not the time to make a spectacle, not when you need the help," Niccolo said quietly, soothing him slightly, but not totally dismissing the matter from Billy's mind; that much was obvious from the way Billy quietly sat, staring out at the road in front of them.

The tactician followed his gaze out onto the pockmarked road stretching out endlessly in both directions. He was glad that Black Hawk had decided to drive the group over in his Jeep. _Perhaps he had foreseen what the road conditions would be like_ , Machiavelli thought privately. _Billy would not be happy, driving his baby over these ruts._

"How are you doing, Billy?" Black Hawk asked, interrupting Machiavelli's thoughts. Billy grimaced but put on a brave face. "Okay. Are we almost there?"

"Another half hour or so."

Billy didn't seem to have it in him to eat a lot of food, so after poking at a piece of toast for a half hour and eating some toast, he gave up. Black Hawk sighed, but paid the bill and headed out for the car. Letting Machiavelli and Billy get in first, they did the last leg of the trip with Billy looking slightly queasy the whole way. They were all relieved to get there at last.

Fred led them to a woman he introduced as Mary Driggers, the medicinal healer of this particular settlement of Delaware Indians. She was short, with thick hair pulled back into braids, and she wore jeans with moccasins. She reached out for Billy from the first, holding both of his hands as she spoke with him.

"Come with me," she signaled, leading them away from her ranch style home. "I think it would be best to treat you in the sweat lodge." They walked up the road a ways, before turning into the woods. About a hundred paces in was a strange little building. Low and wide, it almost looked like it was part of the ground. Niccolo, the tallest among them, had to basically crawl through the entrance way, and Black Hawk and Fred were similarly handicapped. Only Billy and Mary were fine, ducking through and congregating in the center of the surprisingly big room.

Inside, Machiavelli had to wait for his eyes to adjust. Light fell from openings at the top of the building, gently illuminating the otherwise soft gray angles of the room. Black Hawk set Billy down on a rug near the center of the room. Edging over, Machiavelli sat so that the Kid could rest his head in his lap.

Billy looked up at him, eyes flashing. "We've done this before," he rasped.

"That's cause you're always getting in trouble," Machiavelli chided him, sweeping the hair off his forehead. "And I always have to save you."

The medicine woman approached them, smiling warmly at Billy. "You seem quite ill, my young friend."

He grinned back. "I'm actually probably double your age, to be honest. But yeah… don't feel too good today."

"And how old are you?" she asked, preparing a fire in the immediate center of the room.

"Oh, I'm about a hundred and sixty years old," he said faintly.

She didn't bat an eye. Putting on a kettle of water, she assessed him with a practiced eye before collecting strips of what looked like bark from a jar in the corner. "Cherry bark," she added, catching Machiavelli's curious look. "Makes a tea. We're going to have you drink that first."

"And then what?" he asked nervously.

"Pimewakan," she said absently, pushing flat stones into the fire now with a set of tongs.

Billy looked over to Fred for reassurances. He leaned forward. "It's a steam treatment," he explained. "Water is poured on the hot stones, producing steam. Once the illness has been sweated out of you, you get plunged into cold water. Which closes the pores," he concluded.

"Then we'll wrap you in bear skins and let you warm up again," Mary finished, coming to kneel before him.

Billy sat up, looking back at Machiavelli with wide eyes. Taking pity on him, Niccolo pulled him back so that he was resting against the Italian immortal's chest. "We've tried everything else," he reminded him in a low voice. "You're not doing well at all." Reaching forward, he accepted the tea handed to him by Mary. He helped to tilt it towards Billy's mouth, allowing small sips.

"Okay," the outlaw agreed in a small voice.

"Good." Mary clapped her hands together. "Let's start. You'll have to strip down for this to work properly."

"I'll have to what?" Billy yelped.

Fred stood up. "Come on, Black Hawk, I want you to meet Chief Robert Redhawk."

"Good, we can form the colored hawk society," Black Hawk joked blithely. He pushed Machiavelli back down, interrupting him as he tried to stand up as well. "No, stay with Billy. He's most comfortable with you."

"You can leave your underwear on," Mary said patiently. "But the illness won't come out of you if it doesn't have a clear path."

"Okay," Billy agreed, still blushing furiously. Crawling away from both of them, he struggled to get to his feet. Instead, he collapsed in another one of his intensifying coughing fits.

"Here," the elderly female Native American offered. Approaching him, she guided him into a sitting position. She helped to pull the shirt back off of Billy, before lying him down on his back. Billy undid his belt buckle and jeans, eyes fixedly staring at a point above him as he pushed down his jeans. He shivered, reaching out a hand for Machiavelli.

"Let's talk," Mary suggested. "Bad illnesses are often caused by other theaters of our life- unfulfilled desires, fears…"

"I'm going to give you some privacy now," Machiavelli said gently, squeezing Billy's hand before letting go. The Kid nodded, watching him as he left the confines of the space.

Outside it was much cooler. Seeing Fred and Black Hawk a little ways off, he carefully picked his way over to where they were standing in front of a Algonquin style longhouse. They introduced him to the chief and to several members of the elder council. Machiavelli bowed politely to each in turn, stopping to discuss with the chief the seriousness of the preservation of cultural heritage.

"How's Billy doing?" Black Hawk asked at last.

Machiavelli watched a team of boys playing lacrosse. He made a slight gesture with his hand. "He wasn't too excited to strip down. Apparently, he's more shy than I thought."

Black Hawk laughed a little. Fred offered to show them around so they walked for quite while, listening to Fred describe his future plans and what he hoped to accomplish. Black Hawk and him seemed to revel in the atmosphere- Machiavelli wondered if they missed the environment of their childhoods, now surely long gone.

"Mac, is something wrong?"

Niccolo looked up. "No, nothing. I was just a little sad that so much of your land," he began, before reconsidering his words. He tried again, "the passing of time hasn't always been kind to our memories."

Black Hawk nodded. In that moment, all of Machiavelli's frustrations and annoyances with the Native American floated away; they understood each other completely for once. "My home city of Florence is, of course, still standing, but all of the familiarities are gone and our customs in some cases, changed entirely."

"Well, hopefully, I'll be able to help these people preserve some of their traditions during my stay here," Fred demurred. He got up. "I'm going to pull my stuff out of the jeep. I'll meet up with you before you guys leave."

Black Hawk grasped his shoulder for a second. Checking his watch, he made a motion to the Italian immortal. "It's been hours. Let's go see how he's doing."

They ambled back down the thoroughfare. Entering quietly, they stopped just inside the door but the healer motioned them to come in.

Billy was asleep, tucked between two bear skin furs, it appeared. His hair was sticking up all askew, but even as they walked over, Mary was fixing his hair with a small comb. "It really took it out of him, poor dear," she said, patting his head gently. "But we got through it."

"Is he dressed?" Black Hawk asked, groaning as he sat down beside Billy.

"Oh, yes. He dressed himself afterwards. He's quite the talker, isn't he?" Both Black Hawk and Machiavelli snorted. "He's probably going to sleep for a long while now. You'd be okay now, moving him."

"Well, we can at least sit him up," Black Hawk said. He gestured to Machiavelli. "Want to get behind him so he doesn't fall backwards?"

"Sure."

Billy stirred as they peeled away the layers of blankets over him. He didn't seem to wake up entirely, even when they lifted him into a sitting position. Fred came in, crouching to get through the door, and padded over to where they were.

"What you did seems to have worked," Machiavelli told the gray braided Native American.

"It wouldn't be unusual if he should sleep for a long period of time after what we've done today. He'll be dazed for a day or so, but then he should be himself again."

Machiavelli hugged Billy from behind, catching him before he slumped forward.. "This is basically Billy."

"Hey," Billy slurred. Leaning back, he gave the others a goofy grin. "I'll have you know that…" A snore interrupted the rest of his sentence.

"Is he asleep again? What was the point of waking up?" Black Hawk asked.

"Oh, Billy," Fred said fondly. Getting down on his knees, he embraced the Kid's slumbering form. Niccolo gave the outlaw a push forward, letting Fred take him away. The Chickasaw Indian kissed Billy's temple. "I'm going to miss you."

"Well, you know he's going to make you visit again," Black Hawk drawled. Bending down, he pulled Machiavelli to his feet first, then picked the Kid up as though he was a rag doll. "Okay, Niccolo, let's hit the road."

"Thank you," Machiavelli said to the shaman. "It'll be a load off my mind when he gets better." She nodded, following them out.

It was rather like running a gauntlet, getting back to where their car had been parked. Young children, in a mix of traditional and modern garb ran in and out of the others, peering at them as they bowed their way out and speaking behind their hands to each other. Clapping Fred on the shoulder, he followed Black Hawk out, nodding to those they passed.

"Put him in the passenger seat," Machiavelli suggested. "I can take the back. We can lower this seat down so he can lie down."

"Sure," Black Hawk agreed. Laying Billy down in the indicated seat, he lowered it down so that he was lying as far back as he could. Machiavelli dug through the trunk, finding the blankets from before which he handed over to the other man. "Long day, huh?"

"Si." Machiavelli clambered into the back, leaning back. He felt quite tired himself. "Are you going to be okay to drive back?"

"Oh, sure." The whole car dipped a little as Black Hawk climbed in. They waved to Fred, still standing at the top of the hill looking down at them. "Wonder what Scatty's been doing all day," he mused, pulling out onto the main row.

"There's really no way of knowing…" Machiavelli said, making Black Hawk laugh.

~MB~

Billy stretched, his bones cracking. He twisted his torso so that he arched off the bed and laid back down with a happy sigh. "Just because you can do that now," Machiavelli mumbled. "Doesn't mean you have to."

"Seconded," Scatty said from her place on the futon.

The Kid sat up, grinning lazily. "If you lost use of your arm for two weeks, and then got fucking pneumonia, you'd celebrate too, having finally gotten it back." Rolling over, he threw his arms around the Italian's slender waistline. "And I can tickle you again."

"Don't," Machiavelli gasped, but it was too late.

"You're ticklish?" Scatty said interestedly.

"I'm- not- ticklish," he yipped, curling into his side to fend off Billy's attacks. "Oh, god, Scatty, get him off of me." He wasn't expecting her to join the American in his attack. "Nguh." He made a pathetic squeaking sound as they laid into him. "Guys!"

The Italian was slightly surprised when Billy leaned over and casually kissed him on the cheek, before pulling the switch down on the light. They were cast into relative darkness. Machiavelli shifted slightly, very aware of his breathing and how loud it seemed to be. "Are you comfortable William?"

"I am," Billy breathed in his ear. The American wrapped an arm around the Italian's waist and burrowed in closer to his side. "You need to relax, Mr. Machiavelli," he said sleepily.

Machiavelli looked over at the American sharply. In the dim light, he could just barely see the flash of Billy's teeth. The younger immortal was smiling. "Why are you calling me that?" he asked, his Italian accent creeping into his speech.

"Why are you calling me William?" Billy shot right back. Machiavelli could hear the playfulness in his voice. Billy stroked the Italian's side, all boundaries put away. The outlaw was delighted when Machiavelli actually squealed at one point, the American having unconsciously found a ticklish spot on the tactician. "You're so ticklish, Mac," Billy laughed, scooting over immediately.

"I am not," Machiavelli protested, clutching his sides. "No, don't!" The American began to attack his sides anew, lightly prodding his sides and eliciting peals of laughter from Machiavelli. The tactician laughed so hard he turned bright red. Billy finally took pity on the Italian and stopped but not before Machiavelli had curled into a tight ball, attempting to protect his sides.

"Why did I never realize this before?" Billy said, leaning against the Italian's side. He beamed down at the Italian and couldn't help but trail his fingers lightly over the man's stomach. His fingers provoked a visceral reaction.

"It was a well guarded secret," Machiavelli gasped.

"Are you ticklish too, Scatty?" he asked, twisting to look over at her. She shook her head, backing away from them immediately.

Billy got off of the Italian, perhaps afraid that he was cutting off the man's air supply and perhaps realizing how physically close they were. His absence introduced a sudden coolness to the Italian and the tactician watched Billy sink into the bed with obvious pleasure. The outlaw caught him watching. "Go to sleep, Mac," he murmured sleepily. "I love you so. Where's Scatty? I love her too."

"I love you," Machiavelli said back. He listened to Billy's even breathing and unconsciously moved closer. His fingers crept onto Billy's hand and he closed his eyes.


	53. Chapter 53

AN: Thank you, everyone, for the kind comments. I do enjoy hearing about what parts of the story you like. I'm sorry for the delays- I'm a terrible person! Lately, I've been reviewing all of my extra writing material around this story (I tend to write chunks of the story as they come to me and work them in later) and I'm seeing how I can put it all together so it's taking a little bit of time since there are a lot of different ideas/paragraphs/story lines/etc.

* * *

Except for his activity late last night, Billy slept for hours. He'd slept all the way home and Scatty had been the one to carry him up the stairs. Getting back well after dinner, they'd put him in bed, Black Hawk pulling his jeans off but otherwise leaving him alone.

The next day was something similar. If Mary hadn't forewarned them, they would have been somewhat alarmed- he slept through breakfast and lunch and they weren't sure if he was going to join them for dinner until he slipped into the dining room at quarter to six.

"Nora, you came to dinner," he observed happily, sitting down at his customary spot next to the Italian immortal.

"My second day in a row of being here."

"Is it?" Black Hawk asked in surprise.

She nodded. "Scathach invited me over- you guys weren't back yet." She looked at Machiavelli. "What's this I hear about you having a date?"

Machiavelli shifted under her gaze. "It's not really a date."

"You're going out to dinner with some chica."

"Well, I wouldn't call her 'some chica'… She's just someone I'm doing a favor for."

"This is some girl he met when you dragged him off to that dirty old bar," Billie said accusingly, shooting daggers at Black Hawk.

Black Hawk stole a biscuit from the platter in front of him. "What's wrong? I think it's good for him."

Billy's stomach made a grumbling moan of a sound; clutching it, but not looking slightly embarrassed, he said simply, "I'm hungry."

"That makes sense," Machiavelli said evenly, sliding his plate in front of the outlaw and portioning out another plate for himself again. _Billy doesn't care at all that I'm going out with this girl,_ he decided. He smiled faintly at the American immortal, piling more food in front of him. "You never ate last night. Oh, but don't eat so fast," he admonished, exasperated. "You're going to make yourself sick."

"He always eats like that," Black Hawk said, poking Billy in the side.

"Mm, it's the first time I've enjoyed food in a month," Billy defended himself, unabated. "Damn cold messed with my taste buds. Everything tasted bland…"

"Yeah, about your cold," Billie called to him. "How does an immortal get pneumonia?"

"Carefully?" he suggested jokingly.

She shook her head at him. "Unbelievable. A gaping stomach wound this summer in a shitty moist environment and you sprang right back. But a couple of scrapes on your arm and suddenly you're Typhoid Mary."

"Did anyone ever meet Typhoid Mary?" Machiavelli broke in, unable to contain himself.

"She was before my time."

"I avoid the contagiously infirm."

"I was hanging out with some buddies in Mexico around that time."

"I was with stupid here." Billy punched Black Hawk in the shoulder for that last comment.

"Four American immortals and not one of you can add to my information files," Niccolo sighed. He took a sip of his wine. "I didn't realize until just now that I was grievously outnumbered."

"You have been ever since we said goodbye to the Flamels," Billy pointed out.

"But I didn't notice it until now. Damn," the Italian immortal swore. Throwing one arm over the back of his chair, he made a face at the Kid, who smirked back at him, pure ebullience written in every feature of Billy's handsome face. Machiavelli watched him joking around with the others and wished that he could reach out and touch the younger immortal, even to just hold his hand, but he didn't dare. He didn't know if Billy would want that, especially in front of the others.

Billy was all warmth and sinew, so young still in the way he saw the world and how he interacted with it. _We're not always so similar,_ Machiavelli thought, forcing himself to look at the world with the same objective indifference he'd always used as his lens in the past. _I would do him a disservice in the long run, to continue to harbor feelings for him._

"Mac, you're not listening to me," Billy chided, somehow knowing as he always did that Niccolo was a thousand miles away.

"I'm sorry, William, I was just thinking… What did you say?"

"I was just saying that I was surprised you never caught my cold, these past couple weeks of me being ill. It seemed like you got sick constantly when you were little."

"I am kind of surprised myself," he admitted. "But I think you were more susceptible to your illness because you'd been hurt so severely right before. I didn't really get hurt this summer, not with you taking care of me."

"I'll be back in a bit guys," Black Hawk interrupted. He put his plate on the sideboard. "I just remembered something upstairs…"

"Okay. You coming back?"

"Yeah, yeah, soon. Don't wait for me."

"I'm going to go get us dessert from the kitchen," Billy decided, pushing himself out of his seat.

"I can help you," Machiavelli volunteered quickly, seeing the looks the female immortals were exchanging; he knew that they'd been talking about him before dinner and it looked like now they were going to go after him at last.

Unfortunately, Billy wouldn't hear of it, making him no help to the Italian immortal. "Nah, nah. Mac, you've been waiting on me for weeks. Sit down. I'll get everything. That's why we have the dumb waiter!"

"Oh, but Billy…" he trailed off. Sighing, he faced his accusers. They waited until they could hear the Kid's footsteps disappearing down the steps to the basement. As soon as they heard him opening cabinet doors, Machiavelli rushed to cut them off. "You guys told me to make him jealous," he offered meekly. "I'll go out with this girl. You should be happy."

"But we've been talking about it and we don't think you're doing it to make him jealous," Scatty said bluntly. Next to her, Billie leaned forward and nodded in agreement. It was truly a thing of wonder, watching the two of them work together on a common goal, even if it was a goal which conflicted with how he was feeling at the moment.

He winced. "Well, you can see for yourself. He's not jealous at all. I don't think he really cares. I'm thinking that this is all rather pointless…"

Scatty grabbed his hand. "Niccolo, why are you giving up?" she whispered, checking to make sure the Kid wasn't coming up the stairs yet. "You've seemed happy, these past couple of days. I thought you had a plan, but that's not it."

"I am happy. I have friends that I love dearly. I have a good relationship with the people around me. That's more than I ever thought I'd have."

"But couldn't you be happy without giving up? Wasn't that the goal?"

"Well, maybe I'm happy because I've given up. For months now, I've been fighting what I'm feeling because first I didn't believe it of myself and then I thought I could change Billy… I can't. I don't know… It's just something I woke up, thinking about this morning. But I can be happy as his friend."

"Can you?"

They heard the rumble of the dumbwaiter, and Billy's quick step on the stairs. "I'm so glad to be myself again," he said immediately, skidding into the room. He grinned at them.

"Black Hawk still isn't back down here?"

"Perhaps he found a way to be otherwise occupied," Billie suggested lightly. Getting to her feet, she helped take the tray from Billy.

"More for us, that fucker. That literal fucker," Billy said loudly, seeming to take great delight in his pun. "Scatty, why do you look sad?" Coming around the table, he pulled her to her feet. "Let's eat in the living room. We have a nice living room, we should live in it."

He threw an arm around Machiavelli too as they stepped into the other room. Billie had already taken the lead, pushing her way into the other room. "I picked up a new record for you," Scatty told Billy, surprising him.

"Did you? You shouldn't have done that," he said, but he followed her over to the bookcase, looking very interested. They put it on, Billy inspecting the cover of the album carefully. Scatty sat beside him, eating ice cream.

Nora grabbed Machiavelli by the collar and pulled him over to the other side of the room. She continued to whisper their argument in his ear. He nodded politely, inclining his head as she spoke, but he felt that he wasn't making a mistake, so it largely went over him in waves.

"I'm going to see where that big buffoon went," Billie told them, apparently giving up on changing Machiavelli's mind, at least until they got him without the Kid in the room. "He's been gone for almost a half hour now."

"Okay," Machiavelli agreed. "Tell him to come back down- we should do something as a group. I think Billy misses Fred already," he added quietly.

Billie glanced over at her similarly named companion. "Yeah, he's coming on strong tonight. Perhaps he senses that he's losing you," she suggested caustically, jabbing him in the side. She started to leave.

"Nah, he'd probably be relieved," Niccolo murmured.

The jazz singer backed up again, having almost left the room. "Don't give me that," she hissed, starting the conversation anew. Shrinking away from her, Machiavelli regretted all of his life decisions up to this point. She swelled like an angry goose.

He gave up. Jerking his head towards the stairs, he followed her halfway up where they had a whispered conversation. "Everybody and their brother notices it, so clearly I'm no good at keeping this a secret," he whispered. "Billy's not an idiot, and he can't possibly be that oblivious, so it's likely that he's feigning blindness to spare my feelings. Why not let him, instead of blowing up my relationship with him?"

"Oh, you know he's not like that. Even if he didn't feel the same way, he'd probably be flattered. You should know how much he looks up to you."

"I don't think it works that way with men," he told her, shaking his head. "There's a bit of a difference between admiring someone and wanting them to-"

"Yes?"

"Never mind," he said quickly, flushing slightly in the darkness.

She sighed. "Why now, though? You haven't given up after months of pining after him," she pointed out, poking him again in the ribs.

He held his chest, warding off further attacks. W _hy now?_ He wondered himself. Images of Billy reaching out his hand, of Billy looking back for him, fleeted through his mind. They were as close to it as they ever could be. "I don't know," he said honestly. "But I've lost all my friends and family. I've often thought I would never be close to anyone, ever again."

Nora leaned back. "I don't know what to do with you," she admitted.

Machiavelli dropped down a step, sensing an end to the conversation. "Sorry," he apologized with a little smile.

"What'll it take to convince you?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. There are still rebellious parts of me that balk at the thought of my own homosexuality. How could I ask Billy…?" He shrugged. "Grab Black Hawk and bring him down. I feel a bit blue, all of a sudden."

"I'll try, but he's acting funny too, these days. Men… they say women are hormonal," she mumbled, heading up the stairs.

Machiavelli returned to the living room. "Where'd you go?" Billy called, stopping mid-dance to look over at his tall friend.

"We're organizing a search party for Black Hawk," Machiavelli said smoothly. "What on Earth are you doing to our Scathach?"

"He's trying to recreate the dance from the end of Dirty Dancing."

"Dirty Dancing… was a movie?" he guessed.

Billy stopped to gape at him. "Mac, you have some serious holes in your movie knowledge. He also hasn't watched the Titanic," he told Scatty.

"He doesn't know chick flicks like you do," she said, shaking her head.

The Kid scowled. "They are not chick flicks. There were lots of men at both, when they came out in theaters."

"And were all of these men crying into their lacy handkerchiefs?"

Machiavelli couldn't help but snicker. "Why do we spend so much time with such mean women, William?"

Billy looked over Scatty's head at him. "Are they picking on you, too?"

"They are indeed. Nora keeps jabbing me in the ribs," he added, rubbing at his chest again.

"Aw. Want me to kiss it?" Billy offered. Machiavelli gave him a quizzical look and the outlaw shrugged. "Sounded creepier than I meant to. I'm sorry. So, watch this. Scatty stands like this and I cross the stage-"

"The stage?" Machiavelli asked doubtfully.

"Are you trying to put me in the corner?" Billy asked, puffing out his chest and grinning at him with lazy bravado. "Nobody puts Billy in a corner!"

"How long was I away?" the Italian immortal asked finally, watching the two of them dance through something they'd obviously practiced before.

"I don't know; you were out there for like twenty minutes. I found my Righteous Brothers record and the rest is history."

"I guess so," Niccolo said, intercepting Scatty. "Have you ever seen Top Hat? That's a good movie. I'll show you how to do it."

"Who would have thought you were a good dancer?" she commented, letting him take the lead as she adjusted to the new steps. "I think, personally," she continued, "that we should just give up on seeing Black Hawk and Billie again tonight. Who knows what happened to them?"

"They're probably having sex," the American immortal predicted. "It's been a couple of days for the big boy. That's too much for him. At least it won't affect us. We're having fun," he commented, watching them dance. One song came to an end and he put a new record on, adjusting the speed.

Hours later, the two men excused themselves. Billy led the way upstairs. "I should take a shower before going to bed, it's been a couple of days. I feel pretty gross."

Machiavelli nodded. "Could I go in first, though? I just have to pee."

"Oh, sure, Mac. I've got to get my night clothes anyways…"

Niccolo went into the room, flicking on the light. Immediately recognizing what he saw, he backed back out. Billy gave him a strange look, having not quite made it down the hall in the spans of time it had taken for all that to happen. "Mac? You okay?"

"Yeah, uh, sure. I just wouldn't go in there," Machiavelli said quickly.

Billy tilted his head. "Why?"

"Well, they're- things are- just don't."

The Kid ignored Machiavelli's stammering. "What's going on in here?" He pushed through the door, and the Italian felt he had no choice but to follow him back into the room. "Oh, come on! Again?" Billy said. "Why always in my bathroom?"

Black Hawk and Billie broke apart, the Native American looking uncharacteristically sheepish and Billie, indifferent. "You didn't own the last bathroom we were in," she pointed out. She threw her pants at him.

Billy brushed them off impatiently. "But why not go up to the bathroom on your floor? Why ours?" he argued, studiously ignoring the fact that this was a very awkward situation unfolding.

"Well… we were coming back down again and then… we decided to make a brief stop. Sorry, kid," Black Hawk mumbled. "Sorry Niccolo." He fastened his pants shut again with deft fingers and edged out of their bathroom. He stopped a couple of feet away. "I was actually thinking of spending the night over at Billie's for a couple of days, starting tomorrow. Then you won't have to see… this sort of thing. Sorry, Mac," he apologized again.

"That's alright. I just have to…," Machiavelli trailed off, still a little unsettled from what he'd seen.

Billy waved Machiavelli in. "Well, the room is at last unoccupied. We can commence to do what we were going to do."

"You make it sound like we were going to do what they were just doing," Niccolo pointed out.

Billy laughed. "Yeah… Hey, Mac?" he said. Machiavelli was unprepared for Billy to edge into the bathroom after him and went to do up his pants again. "No, don't worry about it, I won't be long. I just… are you interested in that girl?"

"Which girl?" Machiavelli asked, bouncing on his heels. He really had to pee now.

"You know… the one you're going to dinner with. You can pee in front of me, you know," he added.

Machiavelli reluctantly shifted so that his back was to Billy. "I'm not interested in anyone," he said defensively, unbuckling his belt.

"But you've…" Billy coughed. "No one?"

Machiavelli thought of the night they'd just spent. Billy had insisted on pulling out the record player and they'd spent the night dancing. It hadn't been so bad…except... Once, when Billy was really hamming it up, doing an elaborate waltz, Scatty had looked across the room to where he'd been sitting at the window seat. He'd mouthed the words 'I can' to her and she had shaken her head just slightly. "No, no one. I'm lucky to just have friends after all these years alone."

~MB~

Scatty looked up as Billy came back in the room. "Feel better?"

"Oh, much."

"You couldn't have gotten dressed before coming back to us?"

He kissed her on the cheek before loping over to the closet. "I put on briefs, I'm not totally naked."

"Oh, come on, you're just about," she pointed out. She started changing into her nightclothes herself, leaving Machiavelli sitting on the edge of the bed between them. He glanced around him, unable to find a direction to look where he wouldn't see… something.

"Is Black Hawk really okay with the way things are with Billie?" Machiavelli blurted out now that the three of them were all safely shut away in their room. He'd been wondering it all night and now that Billy was back, he had to know.

Scatty paused, half undressed, to look over curiously. "I was wondering that too," she said, fixing Billy with an unwavering stare.

The Kid looked between them, fixed his jaw, and made a slight hissing sound as he drew air over his teeth. "I really don't know," he admitted. "He does actually love her, I think, but she doesn't want an actual relationship- you know, beyond sex- and he gets hurt and then he brushes it off. They've done this three or four times before, in the time that I've known them…"

"But what happens, they start getting close and she cuts it off? Why does he keep coming back?"

Billy shrugged. "Black Hawk's a smart guy, but I think every time this happens, he thinks it's going to be the time that's different. And who knows? Maybe he doesn't want any more than what he's getting now."

"Hmm, I think that's sad," Machiavelli couldn't help but say. Hanging up his suit jacket, he loosened his tie, slipped it off, and put it carefully away. He began unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it out of his pants. Not hearing anything from his companions, he turned around. "What?"

"Are you actually changing in here with us?" Billy said interestedly.

"You never do that," Scatty added.

Machiavelli looked up, like a deer in the headlights. "Well, I could go into the bathroom…"

"No, Mac, it's fine," Billy laughed. "You just usually are so modest."

Feeling like a fish out of water, Machiavelli began to rebutton his shirt, then stopped and undid them again. "I could go into the bathroom," he said again, not knowing what to do.

"Now, you've done it, you made him self-conscious. You broke him," Scatty told the Kid. She stepped out of her pants and tossed them over to the laundry basket.

"Me, you're the one salivating." He ducked when she threw a pillow at him. "Hey!" he laughed.

Glad the attention was off him again, Machiavelli quickly undressed the rest of the way, leaving his boxers on, but discarding everything else. He dove under the covers before either of them could make any other comments about his physique.

Billy climbed in beside him, tugging the comforter up around their necks. "S'cold," he murmured. He sighed softly. "We don't have to sleep just yet, if you still want to talk, Scatty," he called over to the red head. Knowing that Billy was probably watching him, if inadvertently, he tried not to watch her walk around the room, but it was very hard not to when she was clad only in bra and panties.

He turned over so that he was on his back and glanced at Billy. The Kid had also been watching their female companion and blushed slightly, but a nod from the Italian immortal seemed to reassure him.

Scatty climbed onto the foot of their bed and sat cross legged. She looked like she was going to say something to them, but closed her mouth again without a word. "You two look like you belong together," she said finally.

Machiavelli smiled sadly. He shook his head just slightly at her and she wanted to say more, but one glance over at the outlaw, still somewhat awake beside him and she closed her mouth, but not without giving him a meaningful glance.

"Could you have the kind of relationship that Black Hawk and Billie have?" she asked Billy.

"No," he said immediately. "I've had relationships that were purely sexual before. I need to be in love." He sat up slightly. "Aren't you cold, Scatty?"

"I don't feel the cold the way you humans do," she reminded them. "So, do you want a deeper relationship?"

"I don't know Oprah," he laughed. "We're immortals- it's not like we get a lot of choice in the matter. Anyone we might fall in love with, we'd lose. Put a blanket on at least, Scathach."

"Are you sure you don't want to ogle me some more?" she asked tartly.

"I'm sorry, it's just that you're semi naked and well… pretty. We're not neutered, you know," he added, indicating himself and Machiavelli.

"Mm, keep me out of this, Billy…"

"You were staring too," the Kid protested loudly. "This wasn't just me, this was you too."

"Scatty knows I'm not attracted to her in that way," he demurred. "Maybe you should date Scatty."

She slapped his leg. "Are you crazy? Billy thinks of me like his sister, didn't you hear?"

"That's true, that's true," Billy agreed heavily. "At least, mostly a sister."

"And am I your brother?"

"Mm, I don't know. Black Hawk's my brother. You're my…" But Billy didn't have the word to say what Machiavelli was, apparently, because he trailed off without answering the question. "You're special."


	54. Chapter 54

"Mac, you realize we're hemorrhaging companions at this rate?"

"We're still up by one from where we were when we first came over here," Machiavelli pointed out patiently. "As long as we have Scatty…"

"I guess there will be a little more room at the apartment," Billy conceded unwillingly.

It was mid-morning. They'd spent much of the morning walking together. Billy had picked their path, though the Italian immortal was not entirely convinced that his companion had any sort of destination in mind. Still, he had complete faith that the American immortal would find their way back in the end and so, he followed where the other man went without objection.

Somehow, their wandering had led them to a gigantic inner city park. Sitting on a bench across from a fountain that had been turned off for the season, they sat shoulder to shoulder. "What do you think Scatty's doing?" Billy asked, curious as always about what his companions were doing. "We don't judge her. Whatever she wants to do, we wouldn't stop her?"

"Perhaps she just wanted a break from the incessant chattering," Niccolo suggested lightly, giving the Kid a look.

"Nah, that can't be it," Billy said instantly, throwing an arm around his shoulders. "Hey, Mac, look at that squirrel carry three nuts up the tree at once. How do you think he does that? I mean, do squirrels have very strong teeth or is their jaws and how…" Making eye contact with the Italian, he smiled. "Maybe I do talk a lot. But you love it. I know you do."

"Want to bet on it?"

"We could make a bet, but we still haven't capitalized on the winnings of our last major bet," Billy reminded him very seriously. "Remember that one?"

"Yes, you gave it to me, even though I didn't win."

"Wasn't really a fair fight to begin with, Mac a whack," the outlaw admitted comfortably. "I imagine you'd beat me in a race now, if we tried."

"Maybe, but I've always been a bit gawky in the water."

Billy's eyes really lit up when he smiled now. "I can believe that," he agreed.

Machiavelli shook his head and scowled, but he felt a familiar twanging inside his heart and he wasn't sure whether to suppress it or encourage it. Billy looked handsome in the soft early morning light. His hair had darkened over the fall to a light coppery brown and his eyes shown green against the vibrant yellow and orange hues of the last lingering leaves around them. Looking at him made Machiavelli's stomach flutter. _Quash the feelings,_ he decided, getting to his feet. _You're playing a dangerous game, Niccolo._

Billy followed suit, slowly standing up. "Well, she asked us to leave the house for a couple of hours. I have a suggestion for what we might do for the next hour or so."

"Oh, yeah?" Machiavelli asked, slightly dirty thoughts intruding in his head. "What?"

"We never did visit that psychic," Billy said with a smile. "I still think it'll be fun."

"Well, it would definitely be interesting," Machiavelli agreed. Despite himself, he felt slightly disappointed that the American immortal had suggested something so banal, at least in comparison to what he'd been thinking.

"Mac, you have to teach me some more Italian," Billy reminded him as they walked.

"What would you like to learn?"

"Anything," the Kid said eagerly. "Like… what if I was a tourist in Italy? What should I say, versus what shouldn't I say?"

Machiavelli laughed. "I don't know about that one, caro… I don't interact too much with tourists. The really important thing is that you speak some Italian at the very least. Italy ranks very low on English proficiency. The lowest in Europe, I do believe. In France, they will understand you if you speak English, but they would prefer that you at least try to speak French… but none of that matters anyways, as you already know French."

"Okay, well how about you just teach me some dirty words," Billy suggested, a mad twinkle in his eye. "How would you say 'tits'?"

"Oh, William, don't be juvenile," Machiavelli begged, looking around to make sure there was no one around to hear them.

"What about 'I want to squeeze them'?" Billy continued unabated, perhaps delighted to be able to tease the Italian. "Okay, okay, Mac. I have a serious one."

"Somehow, I don't believe you," Niccolo said crossly, pretending not to know the American immortal. He scanned a store front, making a motion with his hand meant to brush the Kid off. "Shoo."

"This could be used in a normal conversation," the Kid wheedled.

"Fine," Machiavelli sighed, knowing he'd regret acquiescing. "What do you want to know?"

"I want to know how to say 'I would lick that'," Billy said, admittedly sounding very serious, though he laughed outright at the outraged expression on the Italian immortal's face. "No, no, no, hear me out," he said again, in between peals of laughter. He danced around in front of the Italian, trying to get a glance at him. "Thanksgiving is almost upon us. There could be a perfectly innocent reason to…"

"You would say 'tette', 'voglio spremere loro', e 'vorrei leccare che'," Machiavelli translated, still feeling quite indignant that Billy's language ambitions were far from pure.

Billy must have laughed for an entire block. He hung on to Machiavelli's forearm, letting the other man essentially pull him along. The few others that were out walking in the chilly November air stared at them as they passed and Machiavelli smiled at last, grinning at the younger man.

"You're such a trouble maker."

"You know what I was thinking, just now, Mac?" Billy asked finally.

"What?"

Billy smiled at him and Machiavelli felt his heart skip a beat. "I was thinking," he said comfortably, "that lips are weird."

Niccolo laughed a little. "What? What do you mean?"

"It's true. Your lips are very pink," he observed. "They look deceptively thin, but…" He flushed, perhaps realizing that the track of their conversation was indeed very strange. "I was talking to a woman this morning, when I bought our coffees. Her lips almost seemed purplish pink."

"Perhaps she was wearing lipstick."

"Perhaps," he agreed. "But it didn't look like it. She was an older woman, plainly dressed. And I thought, 'how strange people are, when you think about it'."

"Billy, I think you just consider the things that most people pay no mind to. I can't say that I've looked at many people's lips recently, not the least of which, my own."

"Well, someone has to think about your lips," the outlaw joked.

"Pfft, well thank you for volunteering."

"Here, it is," Billy said, pulling Machiavelli along down the last twenty feet. "We've clearly been walking for much longer than I thought.

They stopped in front of a dingy little shop with a neon sign in the front window of a hand with an eye in the middle of it. Entering the front waiting room, they were immediately assaulted with the heavy cloying smell of incense. Machiavelli turned to abandon his companion, but Billy seized the back of his jacket, the Kid's eyes watering a touch. Yanking on his jacket, he pulled him through a little waiting room to a dusty window where a middle aged woman was watching them. "Does Madame Tischner take walk-ins?" he asked her cheerfully, checking the sign above them for the name of their supposed prophet.

She frowned suspiciously at him. "She does," she agreed, sounding as though she wished it wasn't so. "There's a half hour waiting period though…" she added, gesturing to the one other person in the room, a heavily made up white woman, who looked like she was in her sixties, who sat, clutching the large golden cross hanging around her neck.

"That's fine," Billy agreed airily, coming back to Machiavelli after giving her their information and gesturing to a floral loveseat with a set of puce colored decorative pillows. He sat beside him, yawning a little in the perfumed air.

"She does not seem to like us for some reason," Machiavelli murmured out of the side of his mouth.

"Why wouldn't she like us? We make a charming couple," Billy joked. He sat up suddenly as if he'd been struck by lightning; for a minute, Niccolo was almost concerned that this was true, but the Kid looked over at him with a devilish grin. He raised his eyebrows at Billy, who said smoothly, "I've had an idea."

"That much is obvious, but what is it…"

But Billy refused to tell him. Instead, he disappeared behind a 1998 copy of People magazine and Machiavelli couldn't seem to shake him from a dog-eared article on Leo DiCaprio. "We should find a copy of Titanic to watch, Mac," he said absent mindedly.

The only other customer in the room was called off into another room. Fifteen minutes later, she left the room in a hysterical rush. Billy got up to approach her, but she practically flew past them in a hurry and was swallowed by the Philadelphian streets with one final clang of the bell hanging from the door.

A gong rang from the back of the room and startled, Machiavelli jumped. He glared at Billy, who'd laughed at him. Their unwilling receptionist came forward. "Madame Tischner awaits," she commanded.

"Oh, well then, we shouldn't keep her waiting." Billy dropped his magazine and proffered his hand to Machiavelli. "Come on, Mac, our destiny awaits."

Machiavelli shook his head at the other man's silliness but followed him down a narrow, tiny hallway and into a room that look like it might double as an illicit poker den by night. He gaped at the gaudy wallpaper, peeling in the corners, and so didn't notice the entrance of the famed Madame Tischner, who apparently didn't like waiting.

Billy must have taken pity on the Italian immortal because he squeezed Machiavelli's hand just slightly and nodded to their host. He pulled out a seat for Machiavelli before sitting down himself.

Machiavelli immediately fell unnerved by their host. She sat opposite them, openly peering at them through glasses with thick, glittery frames and he felt very much like a bug under a microscope. She looked at them for a solid two minutes without speaking and he could feel Billy shifting nervously beside him. As for himself, he sat calmly, one hand resting on the other.

"Now," she said dreamily, starting out of nowhere. "Am I contacting a relative of yours? Or your partner's?" she asked, fixing her eyes on the Italian immortal.

 _Shouldn't she, as the psychic, know that already?_ Machiavelli thought to himself. "Actually, we're not a-"

"Niccolo, babe, it's okay. We can be ourselves here," Billy interrupted, taking his hand. He grinned at him but looked expectantly at the woman across from them.

"Quite so," their other worldly companion agreed.

Machiavelli felt like his heart was beating a syncopated rhythm. Raising his eyebrows, he shot the outlaw a look. Billy shrugged his shoulders a little, a little half smile still etched in his features. He clearly wanted to see how far they could push the limits of this experience. "My partner and I talked it over," he said, kicking Niccolo under the table because the Italian immortal had opened his mouth again, perhaps to protest. "We're trying to find the spirit of my mother. No, my father," he quickly amended.

 _Smooth, Billy,_ Niccolo silently chided.

Madame T however, leaned forward with an aura of seriousness. "Of course, your father. You were clearly very close."

"We spoke on the phone nearly every day," Billy told her tearfully. Now it was Machiavelli's turn to kick his companion. Billy made an odd yelping noise and, when she looked at him, he wiped away the tears that had formed in the corner of his eyes and said, "It's still painful to think about him."

"I will try to make contact with the other side," she said baldly, her voice taking on an even more ethereal quality as she swirled her hands in the air. She looked like she was conducting some great invisible band behind them.

Billy bit down on a knuckle, clearly trying not to laugh. When she spoke next, the airy tone to her voice had disappeared and it sounded harsh, masculine. They both jolted, having not suspected that particular development. "Billy?"

The Kid almost recoiled from this experience, his face frozen halfway between amusement and complete horror. "Dad?" he said dubiously.

Madame Tischner made an odd spitting noise, like she had a piece of cotton on the tip of her tongue that she was trying to get off. She blinked at them owlishly. "I'm sorry, the connection is very difficult," she said immediately adopting her airy fairy voice again. Machiavelli expected her to ask, subtly or not, for more money, but she surprised both of them by saying, "Are you sure you were close to your father? He seems very far away."

"My father's not nearby me?" Billy echoed, and Machiavelli was sure that he heard just the tiniest tone of sadness in the outlaw's voice. He continued, curiosity masking whatever had been there a second before. "What about my mother?"

"It's tragic that your mother died when you were so young yourself," she said immediately.

"What did she die of?"

"I feel like my chest is heavy," she said, motioning to her torso. "It's hard to breathe, nothing makes sense, I think I'm panicking…"

"That's enough," Machiavelli said sharply, because Billy had turned very pale and suddenly this wasn't funny anymore.

She nodded.

"Can you see my mother?" the Kid asked keenly.

"I am able to sense traces of individuals. It isn't very often that they present themselves to me."

 _That's fairly convenient,_ Machiavelli thought privately.

"Your mother understands why you changed your name, but she still prefers the one she gave you," Madame Tischner said unexpectedly. Machiavelli felt Billy jolt next to him; for a minute the light faded from his eyes.

"What was his original name?" Niccolo asked sharply, wanting to catch the woman in a lie.

"Henry…" she breathed instead, her eyes fixed on some distant point. Billy threw a glance over to the Italian. He tightened his grip on Machiavelli's hand and Machiavelli squeezed his hand back, repeatedly, to send reassurances to his companion.

"What was her name then?"

The psychic ignored him and Machiavelli felt nettled. "Who's Timothy?" she asked instead.

Billy shrugged at that. "I haven't a clue." He looked over at his companion, who shook his head, frowning now.

"He's watching over you. He was there when you fell. He stayed with you until you were well again."

"I don't know any Tims," the Kid asserted. "I don't want to talk about someone named Tim. I want my mother. Where is she?"

"I feel that she's in the room with us today. Perhaps if we had more time…"

That was apparently too much for Billy. He stood up quickly and Machiavelli was a bit surprised to see anger flash over his features; though Niccolo too, was impatient with the suggestion that more time, _rather, more money,_ would solve this, he felt that Billy had much more reason to be upset because it was with his feelings that she was toying. Machiavelli stood up too, grabbing his hand again because Billy had let go. He pulled the outlaw closer to him. "I think we've had enough for today," he said mildly, taking out his wallet and putting her fee into the middle. "Come on, tato, let's get some fresh air."

"That wasn't as fun as I thought it would be," Billy said darkly, stalking out onto the street. He paced around on the sidewalk, waiting for Machiavelli to catch up.

Niccolo wasn't used to Billy walking fast; usually he had to slow himself down to match pace with the Kid's easy swagger. "Don't let it get you down, caro. These people earn their living by this work. They'll tell you anything if they think they can make more," he assured the younger immortal. Privately though, he remembered several psychics who had actually possessed some auric talent and he'd hoped this would be one of them, at least for Billy's sake.

"I know I went in there looking to get entertained, but some of the stuff she said about my mother sounded like it could be real, didn't it?" Billy pleaded. He crossed at the first break in traffic and Niccolo ran across after him. "I miss my mother."

"I know, dear."

"What if…?"

Machiavelli didn't know where Billy was going with that question and apparently the American immortal didn't know either because he trailed off. Niccolo stopped on their steps, reaching out a hand to Billy. The Kid stopped, turning around. For some reason, he blushed faintly; Machiavelli couldn't tell why exactly, it wasn't like anything they'd done or found out this morning was particularly embarrassing, but Billy looked down at the step and back at him and flushed some more. "Listen, I was on the phone with Perenelle the other day. She suggested that she could come a week before Thanksgiving, or so, and we could try to visit one of the nearby areas to look for your mother. Why don't we try that? You said you lived in one of the nearby states, right? We could talk to Perenelle tonight."

"I was born in New York… and we lived in Indiana when I was little. I don't think she'd be there…" Billy supposed, the blush fading from his face as he thought about it.

"We could still try," Niccolo pressed. "If we go into it not expecting to find anything and we don't find it, well you won't have lost anything. Right?"

"Yeah… yeah, Mac. We didn't spend a lot of time in Indiana but that was when she was just starting to get sick so she was a lot healthier… happier too, I think."

"So I'll give Perenelle a call back and tell her you want to do it?"

"Sure. Or, you know, I could call Perry. It's been a while." Billy dashed up their steps, flinging open the door. "Scatty! We're home!"

"I'm up here," she called down from what sounded like the top floor. Billy thumped up the stairs, taking them two at a time, but Machiavelli stopped in the front entrance hall to secure the door and to take off his shoes. Consequently, by the time he climbed the two flights of stairs, Billy and Scatty were well immersed in a conversation about the psychic.

"There you are," she said at last, noticing Machiavelli leaning in the doorway. "I didn't think you guys would be gone the whole day."

"Well, we spent half the morning walking around the city." Niccolo strolled across the room and laid down, knowing he was going to end up wrinkling his suit needlessly. "Are you reclaiming this bedroom for the time being?"

"I am, not that it hasn't been fun, having our perpetual sleepover, but… this is a real bed."

"You swore you liked the futon," Billy said accusatorily.

"Eh, it's okay."

~MB~

"Hi Perenelle," Billy called. He listened to the Frenchwoman speaking for half a minute. "Yeah, I'm back at home with Mac and Scatty. What's that? No, Black Hawk's living with another friend for the time being… gives us more room. Hang on, let me put you on speakerphone."

Hitting the button on his screen, he set the phone down on the coffee table between the three of them. "Is everyone there?" Perenelle asked, her voice sounding strange over the phone.

"We're both here," Scatty said, leaning towards the phone.

"Hello, Perenelle," Machiavelli called at the same time.

"Is Nick there?" Scatty broke in eagerly.

"Bonjour, ma cherie." They could hear the amusement in the Alchemyst's voice. "I was wondering if you'd remember me."

Billy looked sheepish. "We should have called more often."

"Non, no, it's fine- really, we've spent the last month or so really settling into our routines. But Perry wanted to see if you had some time now, to go looking for ghosts. Especially with the holidays almost upon us… it would be good to meet up again."

"You think we can find my mom," Billy asked excitedly, sitting up straighter. "And Mac's wife?' he added, seeming not to want to exclude her from the conversation. "We could go looking for her first," he said graciously, deferring to the Italian immortal.

Niccolo took one look at the suppressed longing on the Kid's features and knew he could wait. "It would make more sense to look for your mother first," he said gently. "I'm still thinking about the places we might look for Marietta. The landscape in Italy has changed so much, these past five hundred years…"

Billy threw himself on Machiavelli unexpectedly, wrapping his arms around the Italian's torso. "You're the best, Mac," he said, kissing the other man's chest where he could reach from his position, which just happened to be right over his heart. "I'll make it up to you."

"No need." He shook his head.


	55. Chapter 55

AN: As an American, I was absolutely devastated by the results of our election yesterday. I am completely ashamed of the levels of bigotry and misogyny which plagues our country and I beg all of my readers to understand that this is not the America that I have loved. To anyone who is feeling attacked because of their sex, gender, race, religion, or personal beliefs, please know that you are never alone. You are not broken and you are important. Please feel free to PM me if you ever feel in need of a friend. ~Nikki

* * *

Machiavelli woke up in the middle of the night to find Billy's side of the bed empty again. He blinked, feeling disoriented with his friend missing. _Maybe Billy doesn't sleep as much as I thought_ , he posited as he slipped out of bed. Checking on Scatty, he pulled the blankets up more securely around her, surprised that she was actually asleep for once. _He's got to be downstairs then._ He headed towards the stairs with the vague intention of convincing the other immortal to come back to bed. _If he's not in the study he must be somewhere down there._

Standing at the top of the first landing, he saw bluish light coming out of the living room on the floor below, confirming his suspicions that the outlaw had come down here to watch television. He made it halfway down the first flight before he made sense of the sounds he was hearing. He froze, one foot not quite touching down on the next step, unsure of what to do.

Coming from the living room was the unmistakable sound of what Machiavelli could only call a lively pornography. He hung back on the stairs, suspended between decisions. _Just go back to bed_ , he decided. _Go back to bed and pretend you never woke up._ He took a step up, praying to slip away unnoticed. Instead, the step let out a loud creak and he winced.

The sounds stopped. "Mac?" He gave up on escaping and came down a few more steps. Billy came out into the front entranceway, thankfully, entirely dressed. He smiled up at the Italian unblushingly. "Caught me."

"I was just wondering where you were."

"Couldn't sleep. Come down, Mac. I'll turn it off."

Machiavelli hesitated. "I don't want to interrupt you."

Billy laughed. "That's very thoughtful of you, Mac. Come down. I'll leave it on." Machiavelli came the rest of the way down very slowly, not sure if he'd made a mistake in his wording or if Billy was just really open about his sexuality. Billy seemed to sense his reluctance. "Only joking, of course. I'll turn it off."

The Italian immortal waved a hand. "Leave it on. It doesn't bother me."

"Okay," Billy agreed easily. "I'm glad it's you and not Scatty. Be a bit more explaining to do there…" He flopped on the couch. Pulling the blanket over himself again, he fumbled for the remote control. "It's mostly done anyways. Very believable piece of cinema, this is." He hit play.

Machiavelli sat cross legged beside him, unable to not watch as the woman on the screen climaxed. "How on Earth does she keep from falling forward?" he asked in astonishment.

"Even if she fell forward, she'd bounce right back," Billy joked happily. "Course, you don't need movies like this, you've had the real thing..."

Machiavelli didn't want to talk about it. Glancing sideways, he was a little surprised and definitely embarrassed to find that the American immortal had been watching him watch the television. "I-," he began to say.

"I know you watch porn, Mac, I've seen the search history on my computer."

"I don't watch a lot of porn," Machiavelli said slightly defensively, color tinging his cheeks. "I just did because… I was having trouble controlling my hormones. And that hasn't been for about a month."

Billy nodded sagely. "It was right around the last of your teenage years."

Machiavelli dipped his head in acknowledgement but didn't trust himself to speak. Trying not to watch as Billy lazily ran a hand over the bulge in his pants, he shifted so that he was leaning against the back of the couch. "Why couldn't you sleep?"

The Kid rotated his shoulders. "Thinking about some stuff… wanted to get my mind off of it. You know how it is." Picking up the remote, he flicked through their options. Apparently, Machiavelli's presence really didn't bother him because he selected another adult film and pulled the blanket off the back of the couch. "Want this over you too?" he asked, offering a corner to the Italian.

Machiavelli hesitated before pulling it over more on his side. "I'm going back to bed after this."

~MB~

"Okay, I'm going to head over now," Machiavelli said, poking his head into their sunny study where Scatty and Billy had been playing a game of Monopoly at the desk.

Billy looked up in surprise. He glanced at his watch and looked up at him again. "Now? But it's so early," he protested.

The tactician sighed, but came into the room the whole way. Standing beside the Kid, he clapped him on the shoulder. "Yes, but we literally don't know anything about each other and while we're not supposed to be a serious couple, we're still masquerading as a couple so… We have to spend some time getting to know each other."

"You already got to know each other when you went to that bar."

"Chill, Bill, who can you really get to know in a bar?" Scatty pointed out, rolling the dice. She bought St. James' Place and handed off the dice.

"He spent enough time with her to be dating her," he retorted. "The fact that it's a fake date is worse."

Machiavelli couldn't quite follow the logic of that one, so he patted Billy on the back and got up to go. "Don't wait up for me, I don't know how long I'll be."

"Alright," Billy said reluctantly. "Do you want my keys?"

Niccolo considered it. "No," he decided finally. "I won't be far. Thanks though."

Billy nodded but he wouldn't look the Italian immortal in the eye anymore. Taking up the dice, he moved his piece ahead nine places, grumbling when he landed on one of Scatty's properties.

Machiavelli was almost out the door when he heard quick, light footsteps on the stairs. Looking up, he felt slightly relieved to find that it was Scatty. "I told him I was going to get us a snack," she said impatiently, in explanation to his raised eyebrow. She crowded into his space. "Look, he obviously doesn't want you to go. Why don't you just tell him the truth?"

"No," he said immediately, surprised. "No, I mean, why would I? He knows there's nothing serious to this, I'm not even trying to trick him this time."

"I could talk to him," she argued. "I know that Billy loves you, why don't you just try talking to him honestly for a bit…"

He shook his head. "Nah. No." He thought about the night before, about all of the times when the outlaw had inadvertently shown that they were on two different paths, and how many times he'd been disappointed. "I know that Billy's not interested in me in that way and I'm okay with it, okay, Scatty?" He kissed her cheek. "Promise me you won't say anything to him."

"Niccolo…"

"Promise?" He held out his hand. She grudgingly took it. Activating his aura, he let smoke flow off of his fingers and over hers, coiling around their wrists. "A promise is a promise. Now I have to go, bella donna. I'll be back tonight." He broke away from her and sprinted down the steps.

He almost wished that he had taken Billy's car, like the other immortal suggested, walking down the road. His little discussion first with Billy and then with Scatty had cost him some twenty minutes; he sped down the sidewalk, using his phone to guide him. The sky was white above him, seemingly cloudless.

Jillian had asked to meet in a little coffee shop about five blocks from their apartment; he hoped that if they were meeting her parents farther than that, she'd drive them somewhere. Already, he was getting cold. His breath rose in lacy plumes.

Wandering along, he saw his destination across the street. Glancing both ways, he sprinted across, hesitating only at the door. Memories of the night before goaded him onward.

A bell chimed as he opened the door, and he paused by the door, carefully shutting it so that none of the cold November air would intrude into the little shop. He needn't have worried; the little storefront was warm on the inside. Seeing his 'date' for the evening, he gave a little nod to the woman behind the counter wearing a green niqab.

The little brunette smiled when she saw him; getting up, she took his hand with both of hers. "Thank you for doing this for me."

"It's the least I can do after spending the night deceiving you," he assured her, taking the seat across from her.

She looked at him, tilting her head a little. "Why are you sad, Niccolo?"

He smiled in surprise. "What makes you think I'm sad?"

"I don't know, just a feeling, I guess." She stirred her tea. "Can I get you a tea?"

"No, thank you," he said immediately. "I can pay for a coffee; you're already bringing me out to dinner tonight."

"It is a valuable investment for me," she said brightly. She laughed a little. "My parents are always on my back to bring home a man. I don't know how many times they've told me that I'm not getting any younger…"

"You're not interested in having a relationship?" he asked, ordering his coffee when one of the women came over. Thanking their server, he looked at her carefully.

She shook her head. A pained expression came over her face; he wished she wouldn't look so sad. Something told him that she was a genuinely good person. "I do, but I don't," she said hesitantly. "See, I'm asexual but not aromantic. I do fall in love with people, but I don't want a physical aspect to the relationship. That's not easy to arrange." She laughed a little.

"Ah. You'll find someone," he told her gently. "Sex shouldn't be the most important part of a relationship anyways," he said decisively, reflexively shifting into his paternal mode. "I haven't had sex in f- in forever," he corrected himself. "Not since my wife died."

"You were married?" she asked curiously, propping herself on her hand as she listened intently.

"We got married very young," he said immediately, knowing that it would seem almost unrealistic given the way he looked currently. "She died."

"Sorry," Jill said, but she looked more curious than regretful. "When did she die?"

"A couple of years ago," he said. _The understatement of the century,_ he thought, mentally kicking himself.

"Oh, but that's perfect!" He blinked. She immediately backpedaled. "Sorry! I'm such an awkward person. I just meant that we could say we're talking it slow because of your… sorry, sorry."

"It's okay," he assured her.

"So you're bisexual?"

 _She doesn't really shy away from the tough topics, does she?_ "Apparently, but I wasn't aware of it until I met Billy. So I don't know if I'm gay or if I just love him so much that…" He flushed. "I've never thought of myself as anything other than heterosexual.

"What's Billy like?"

He laughed. "How's that going to give you background on me that you can use with your parents?"

"Tells me what kind of man you are."

"Okay, okay. Well Billy's… Billy has blue green eyes that flash when he laughs and he laughs often. He drives a 1964 Thunderbird and he's daring where I'm practical. He's gentle and sweet but occasionally hot-tempered…" Machiavelli realized that he was going on and on. "We're sharing an apartment for the season. I came down last night to him watching porn."

"Straight or gay?"

"Straight," he said regretfully. "Sometimes it seems that just when my heart is full to the brim with love for him, Billy reminds me that he's not interested in that way." This was fast becoming a conversation he didn't want to have. "Anyways," he said, redirecting her, "you haven't told me about you. And we're meeting them in an hour, aren't we? So I better learn some background about you."

"Yeah, that's true. Okay, the crash course of Jill. I have two cats and a dog. Their names are…"

~MB~

"He might not come back for a while, Billy," Scatty said quietly, following the Kid out onto the steps of the brownstone. The sun had gone down hours ago, but Machiavelli still wasn't back. The outlaw had grown restless in the last hour.

Billy gave her a tiny smile. "I know. But I've got to wait, just in case." He brushed the steps off with his hand and settled down on the top step.

Scatty looked down the street. She sighed, drawing her sweater around her. "I'll wait with you," she offered, sitting beside him. "Though you really shouldn't be out here, seeing as you just got over pneumonia four days ago…"

He scooted closer to her, carefully putting an arm around her shoulder. "Thanks," he told her, his voice muffled as he tucked his chin into his sweater to keep himself from completely freezing. He shifted so that his body was blocking the breeze from hitting her directly. "Scatty? Do you know what's going on with Mac?" Scathach was silent. "Scatty, I know that you know," he said softly. "That's why you went to talk to him before he left this afternoon."

"I was getting us a snack."

"It takes fifteen minutes to prepare a plate of Oreos?"

She shuffled her feet. "Fine. I do know," she admitted. "At least part of it. But I promised I wouldn't tell anybody anything. Especially you. And we swore on our auras."

"Why? Have I done something wrong?" he asked her, genuinely worried. _Did I offend him last night? I thought…_ He tilted his head, needing her reassurances. "And nobody else knows?"

The Shadow weighed her options. She made a face at him, but shook her head. He felt like she wasn't telling him the whole truth, but let it slide, listening to her. "You really haven't done anything wrong, and Niccolo knows that too. But no, nobody but me knows what's up. Some of the others have their suspicions though."

"You can't give me a hint?" he wheedled, now beginning to shiver in the unusually cold weather. Scatty, who was largely impervious to the cold, took off her shawl and draped it around his shoulders. She shook her head. "He's trying to figure out something on his own and it's not working out for him."

"What's he trying to figure out?"

She gave him a little smile. "Can't tell you that, sorry."

"But it's about me? And him? Scatty, what's going on?" he asked desperately.

"Nothing… he's just a little frustrated, is all, Billy."

"But so am I," Billy yelped.

"I know. I know," she said, rubbing his back. He quieted.

"Alright, Scatty. I'm sorry. If he's asked you to keep," he fumbled for the right word, "whatever this is a secret, it's not fair of me to ask you to give it away. I won't ask you again," he mumbled. "I mean, it's not like he's doing anything wrong either, it's just…"

"Just what?" she asked, fixating on him with interest now.

Billy faltered. "I don't know," he admitted with total honesty. He rubbed at his temples. "I just, I feel-"

She shook his hand roughly. "What, Billy? What do you feel? I can't help you until you know. And I want to help you."

The outlaw stared at her. "I-"

She grabbed his face. "What's the thing that you're not admitting to anybody? Not to yourself."

"You're saying, you're-" He fumbled, than faltered entirely. "I know it has something to do with Niccolo." She nodded. "I'm worried about him. No. He's acting different. Well kind of, but…I…"

She was listening to him, waiting for him to say something, but what she wanted to hear, he couldn't tell. He looked up at the sky. "Is it snowing?"

She brushed off her shoulders impatiently. "It must have just started. Billy, how do you feel about Niccolo?"

"How do I feel about Niccolo?" he repeated. "I love Mac," he said instantly. "He's funny and smart and I think sometimes…" She nudged him and he looked up. "Oh, here's Mac," he said, following her gaze to the tall immortal coming down the road.

She released Billy's arm, both American immortals scrambling down the steps to meet him on the sidewalk. "Niccolo, you're back."

"Where have you been, Mac? It's late. And freezing out," Billy said, sounding worried. Plumes of cold air blossomed as he spoke.

Machiavelli was shivering. "Well, you know I was on my date," he stumbled over the words, "and it went a little later than I thought it would." He jammed his hands into his pockets, moving closer to the others. "You shouldn't be out here, William," he scolded. "You're just getting over your cold now. What are you doing?"

The Kid ignored that jibe. "You're not even wearing a coat. Why didn't you grab one before you left? Get in here," he ordered, practically dragging him into the house. "You've got to take care of yourself, we still get cold. I put that coat rack next to the door so that you'd always have a coat not cause I like stepping around it… Scatty, why are you looking at us like that? Come in so I can close the door."

Machiavelli dropped onto the couch. "I didn't expect it to go this long. I'm sorry if I've been strange these past few days."

Billy grabbed his hands, rubbing them between his to warm them up. "Well, you're allowed to do whatever you want, obviously, I just want you to be safe and happy. I just never thought…Never thought I'd be waiting up for you after your dates. I thought you didn't date."

"Well this was a fake date," Machiavelli pointed out, tucking his nose into the crook of his shoulder to warm it.

Billy felt dissatisfied with that, but let it go. He glanced up at Scatty. "What about you, are you alright?"

She nodded, climbing into his armchair and settling with her arms around her knees. "I'm fine. Cold doesn't bother me the way it does you guys."

The Kid nodded. He glanced back at the Italian immortal before him. "Well, Black Hawk certainly likes this more outgoing version of you."

"Have you talked to him lately?"

"They dropped by this afternoon. He's out on a date with Billie," Scatty answered for the outlaw. Billy nodded, feeling his stomach churn. Something must have flickered on his face though because Machiavelli noticed it.

"Ah." Machiavelli looked down; so did Billy. He was surprised to find that he still holding the older immortal's hands. Niccolo ran his thumb over a bruise still visible on Billy's right hand. "Do the things I do hurt you, Billy?"

Billy laughed nervously. He couldn't bring himself to let go just yet. "Of course not. I just want you to be happy. Are you happy, Mac?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I am," he replied dubiously.

They both jumped a little when Scatty got up. "You're both so stupid," she said hotly, passing them to go upstairs. "I don't understand either of you," she added, poking her head back down long enough to make an obscene gesture back at the men.

Billy tilted his head towards her and managed a half smile. "Now what's with her?"

Machiavelli gave him a soft smile. "We frustrate her. Billy?" The outlaw cocked his head. "My hands are better now." Billy let go of them instantly, a small o forming on his lips. "Thanks for being there when I got back."

"Oh, sure. I'm always there for you, Mac. Cause I…" The Italian waited. "Cause you're really special to me," he finished lamely. He felt his stomach twist into knots. "Hey, Mac? Go to bed. I'm just going to check on Scatty and then I'm going to bed too."

"Sure, I was getting tired anyways," Machiavelli mumbled. He bent to undo his laces.

"I'll be in bed soon," Billy promised. The Italian nodded, not looking up. Billy had to fight the urge to run his hand through Machiavelli's hair. He stood, overbalancing on one leg and managed to right himself. A sudden realization had come over him; for the first time that evening, he understood what Scatty had been getting at before and he had to see her.

He patted the Italian immortal on the shoulder as he passed him, internally making connection after connection. His need for physical contact, his insistence that Machiavelli continue to live with him even as an adult, the prolonged sleeping arrangement… and his hurt feelings at finding Machiavelli engaged in a sexual act with another person, with a woman- _of course, Mac was attracted to women_ \- and tonight, somehow tonight had seemed worst of all. Billy had paused on the first landing, feeling slightly dizzy, but now he bounded up the second flight, taking the steps two at a time.

He rapped on his own, old bedroom door. "Scatty? I- I have to talk to you. Is that okay?" She pulled the door open almost immediately and he almost fell into the room. He couldn't say anything, just gazed at her.

She looked at him, studying his face. "You finally figured it out?" she asked. He nodded mutely.

"I'm in love with him?" he asked simply. Glancing down at his feet, he jammed his hands in his pockets. "Can I talk with you for a bit?"


	56. Chapter 56

AN: Personally, realizing I was in love with my best friend was not a smooth transition, lol. So why should these guys have it easy?

* * *

Coming into his old bedroom, he closed the door softly behind him. He teetered on the edge of saying something, but knowing what he wanted to say, he lost his nerve. "How can I be in love with Mac? He's my closest friend. I wasn't in love with him an hour ago."

"Oh, Billy, you might not have known it, but you definitely were and the hour before that too," Scatty sighed. She motioned him in and he climbed on the bed, crouching so that he could make a quick escape if he had to. She pushed him over so that he sprawled into more of a seated position.

"What do you mean?" he asked, feeling like the bottom of his stomach had just dropped away.

"Well you… No, wait, I want to hear this from you. Tell me what you're feeling," she ordered, coming to sit knee to knee with him.

"I'm surprised," he said immediately. "I've been thinking about him for weeks, maybe months now, but… I can't put this in words yet, Scatty. I think I knew this all along, but at the same time, I never expected it," he said slowly, thinking aloud. "I never really put it together until now- until just now- and now I don't know what to do. How am I supposed to act around him?"

"Act like you love him," Scatty suggested, sitting back.

"Haven't I always?" Billy asked distractedly. "In some capacity, I've loved Machiavelli since the first time I met him." He felt confused, but also- he couldn't help but smiling. Saying the words out loud made him feel like there was a balloon swelling in his chest, filling him up so that he felt a little taller. He hadn't realized until this moment that it was something he'd wanted to say.

Scatty was quiet, watching him. He shifted under her gaze. "Can I just stay here with you a minute?" he asked. "I need to think about this a bit. Don't let me interrupt you."

"Well, I guess I'll go back to my book," she said, highly reluctantly. "Let me know when you're ready to talk."

He nodded. Settling down, he gazed out at the moon, fuzzy around the edges and with a ring of light around it. He thought it might snow. Letting his mind wander, he tried to figure out what he was saying, what he was feeling. Unbidden, the memory of Machiavelli leaning over him, from back on their time on Alcatraz, loomed into his head. He remembered feeling the Italian immortals hands on his wound and how he'd been looking in the other man's gray eyes right before he passed out from pain.

He could remember the two of them dancing to records in the living room, Machiavelli grinning at him, and the two of them standing outside of the bookstore under a jet black sky, the way Mac had tilted his head as he leaned in close…

"Wait a minute," he said suddenly, processing what she'd been telling him. She looked up from her book. "You've known that I'm in love with him? Why didn't you say anything?"

"I could only suspect what you felt for him; there was no way to know for sure. Besides," she argued. "If I had said to you last week, 'Hey, Billy, are you secretly lusting after our Italian companion?' would you really have said anything other than 'no'?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "Hey, wait a minute. I haven't been lusting after him. You're making this sound dirty. And you still could have said something, anything, mentioned it to me," he added aggressively.

"You're just mad because it took you so long to figure it out."

"I guess so…"

They were both quiet for a minute, Billy lost in his own thoughts and Scatty watching him, waiting.

"But are we really sure that I'm in love?" Billy asked at last, half pleading. "There could be a lot of explanations for why I feel the way I do, that doesn't have anything to do with, you know…"

"Name a few."

"A lot of reasons…" The Kid licked his lips nervously. "I love you, but I'm not in love with you. Maybe I'm just confused."

"Or?"

"Maybe I'm just out of sorts because of what we know is going on with Black Hawk and Billie," he said hopefully. "He's my best bud but I've always felt like I have to keep up with him. And now Mac's doing-" he made a hand gesture, unable to put it in words. "Doing things. Maybe I'm just jealous?"

Scatty shook her head. "You know that's not it. You're not the jealous type."

"Okay, well maybe I'm just upset cause I've gotten used to seeing Mac all the time and now he's off with this girl."

"He's been on one date with her." She raised her eyebrow.

"He's been on a date and spent the other night in a bar with her and she gave him her p- They are strangely," he struggled for the word, "together and as Machiavelli's friend, I just…"

"Kid, you wouldn't be arguing like this if you didn't love him."

Billy slouched heavily. "I know."

She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him back so that he was lying against the pillows with her. He let her do it, resting his head against her shoulder. "Admit it. You're in love with Niccolo."

The Kid sat quietly, his face propped on his hand so that his body was slightly bowed. He shifted his lower jaw, in deep thought, and looking up at her, nodded. "Yeah, I think I am."

"Doesn't it feel even a little bit nice? To be honest with yourself?"

"I do like that part of this," he admitted. "But I still don't know where to go with this knowledge."

"You don't have to do anything immediately."

"True. But I'm a doer. I like to just get in there and do it."

"Well… just sleep on it for tonight at least. Don't say anything until you're sure."

Billy straightened, glancing at her. "I don't plan on telling him."

"What?"

He nodded. "Yeah, no. Not right now. Maybe not ever. Mac's not gay and neither am I."

Scatty looked pained. "Billy, you're already making decisions. Didn't I just tell you not to do that?" Billy looked at her curiously. He didn't understand why she looked so upset or what she seemed to be holding back, but there seemed to be something she wanted to say. "I'm not smart the way Mac is and I'm much younger and I make mistakes. Somehow he still likes me. Do you think he could ever love me?

"I really do, but you should talk this over with him," she said, relief flooding her features.

"Maybe I will…" But he wasn't convinced entirely.

"You should." He nodded, getting up to go.

"Hey, Scatty," Billy said, as though an afterthought. His hand was on the doorknob, but he turned around to look at her. "Promise you won't tell Mac any of this, you will won't you?"

Scatty seemed to struggle with herself for a minute. "Niccolo would want to know," she said at last.

He thought about it and shrugged. "Perhaps. But I'm not sure what I'm feeling right now. And he's dealing with his own problem right now, so I don't want to give him more to worry about."

"Oh, but Billy…"

"Not a word, promise me?"

"I promise, but you're tying my hands."

~MB~

Billy rapped his knuckles on their bedroom door before pushing it open. He jammed his hands in his pockets. "Hey," he said shyly, feeling like he was meeting Machiavelli for the first time. "You look comfortable."

"I am," Niccolo murmured carelessly, not even opening his eyes. "What is all this?"

"Well, I noticed our pillows were getting pretty flat so I went to the home accessory store. And I was just going to get the pillows, but I brushed up against this blanket and they were so fricking soft, Mac," he explained excitedly, feeling his nervousness melt away. _Machiavelli is the same as always._ And then I found out that the same company made sheets and-"

"And a body pillow?"

"Yeah, and a body pillow.

"Billy you have made another solid decision," he mumbled.

The outlaw gazed down at his Italian friend. Machiavelli hadn't bothered to undress before he had sprawled on top of their bed; he lay, white dress shirt unbuttoned at the top, his tie trailing out of the hand dangling over the side of the bed.

Niccolo opened his gray eyes. They wandered up to Billy's bright blues. "William?"

Billy beamed at him. "I can't help but stare. I never thought I'd see you wrinkle your suit."

"You've been a bad influence on me," he commented, getting up from the bed at last. "I've just got to change and then I'll be ready to go to bed."

Billy sat down on his side of the bed, gazing out his window at the flakes of snow falling. Maybe they were getting some wind blowing them around, maybe it was the start of a storm brewing, but they seemed to be falling faster and faster into the night, softening the world around the edges. He heard Machiavelli unzip his pants; a sudden feeling below his navel made him dive, blushing, under the covers.

Machiavelli slid in on the other side. "Did you have a good night, caro?"

"I missed you," Billy admitted, wondering if he sounded stupid. "Are you all done, helping this girl?"

"I don't know. I had fun tonight." The tactician snuggled down under the blankets. "What are these sheets made out of, my hopes and dreams?"

The Kid snorted; he couldn't help it. He wanted to talk some more about Machiavelli's date, to know if this was something Machiavelli really was going to pursue again. "What did you do tonight?"

"We swapped background for a couple of hours in this little café. I drank so much coffee. And then she brought me over to the restaurant where we met her parents." He sat up, propping himself up on the body pillow. "They're pretty nasty to her."

In spite of himself, he felt a pang of sadness for her. "Why, what did they do?"

Machiavelli frowned, pushing out his thin lips. "It's nothing they did exactly, but they were just kind of unconsciously cruel, the way they talked to her and even the whole reason for me being there. It was the mother's birthday and she made this big deal about Jill finally bringing a man to dinner for the occasion, I get the feeling they do this every year."

"Aw, what's wrong with her being single? We've done it for years," Billy pointed out.

"That's what I told her afterwards. You know, she didn't seem too perturbed by all of it, but it must upset her at least a little bit, cause otherwise, why ask me to come with her?" He lay back down. "I think it's the mother who's really the piece of work She kept making jibes about the dress Jill was wearing and how much makeup she had on. All these backhanded compliments, the kind that really aren't, you know?"

"They shouldn't do that."

"No," he agreed. "But I think that she really wanted to show them up this year because they don't usually visit her; they just harass her from afar."

Billy frowned. "She should tell them to go fuck themselves." He perked up. "Want me to find them and tell them for her?"

Machiavelli laughed. "Billy, I thought you didn't like her?"

"I never said that," the Kid protested. "I just don't, I want… Hmm. I never said I hated her. I just don't want her to hurt you."

"I can assure you she would never do that," the taller immortal said blithely, picking up his book from the bedside table and thumbing through it. Billy resented the surety in Machiavelli's voice; already it seemed that they were forging a relationship and he'd never wanted them to do that.

"You don't think you're going to end up falling in love with her then?"

Machiavelli laughed just slightly. He looked down at the American immortal, locking eyes with him. Billy was the first to look away, his hearting beating faster. "No, I have my reasons to think that we'd become at most, friends. But even that seems unlikely. Jill is a very sweet girl, but our whole relationship is built on lies and that's no way to live."

The rush of relief was startling. _I don't want him to make friends with people I'm not friends with,_ Billy puzzled in his head. He still wanted to hear more details, pushing down the feeling that he was being completely unreasonable. "But what did you do tonight?" he asked again, wondering what was wrong with him.

Niccolo put his book away again. Turning out his light, the room was bathed in shade and shadows. "Well, we went out to dinner with her parents. Like I said, they're pretty nasty. And then we went to the philharmonic. It's a good thing I wore my suit."

"Before you met me, you'd always be prepared to go to the philharmonic," Billy broke in.

"That's true, but I've really let myself go in the past couple of weeks."

"No, you look better than ever."

Machiavelli laughed again. "Grazie. I actually enjoyed that part of the night, if only because the mother shut up for the first time all night." Billy thought he was done talking because he got very quiet, but after a few minutes of resting, Machiavelli's eyes fluttered open again. "After the philharmonic we went to some jazz club. We danced for a long time, so long in fact that I thought we might never stop… my feet hurt a bit."

"After all that, you walked back here? Why didn't she drive you?" Billy tried not to feel pleasure in pointing out this obvious flaw in Machiavelli's dream date, but he couldn't help but feel a little vindictive.

"The jazz club's three blocks over. I told her not to bother."

"Oh."

Machiavelli shifted so that his hips were lower. He stretched, making a willowy sighing noise. Having reached the end of his story, he was fading fast, but Billy had never felt more wide awake before. He couldn't understand how he'd gone to bed the night before not knowing, or feeling, any of this. It was a long time before he fell asleep that night.


	57. Chapter 57

AN: Thanks as always for the kind reviews to the story. They always motivate me to write more! I've had pneumonia for the past couple of weeks so that's the cause of the delay... Funny how just when I grant my characters health at last I lose my own. ;)

* * *

Sunday had been quiet for the immortals, each finding their own space to be in. Billy had been particularly pensive, Machiavelli thought, but a nonverbal conversation with Scatty had told him to lay off, at least for the moment. Billy would tell him what was up in due time.

Monday morning, however, he was dismayed to find the Kid's side of the bed already empty when he woke up, the covers disheveled and a trail of night clothes leading towards the door to the hall. Straining his ears, he couldn't hear the shower; Billy must already have gone off somewhere.

He got up and couldn't help it; per his OCD, he had to make the bed. He also gathered up the discarded clothes from the American immortal and set them into the basket against the wall before getting dressed himself. Pulling up the blinds, he glanced out at the world. Already, the snow from the beginning of the week had disappeared. It was now misting lightly, the whole world wet and grayish in the streets below.

He found Scatty upstairs in the study, curled in one of the armchairs like a cat. "Hey," he rasped. He made a face, coughing a little to clear his throat. "Good morning." He was pleased to sound more like himself that time.

"Hey," she said, straightening a little in her chair. "Looking for Billy?"

"Well, yes, but also for you. Where is he?"

"I don't know… he said something about needing some time alone and he went off…"

Machiavelli frowned. "Didn't we all just spend yesterday pretty much alone?"

"Well, that's what I thought, but…" She shrugged, watching him closely. "Have you talked to him much since your date?"

"Do you think that's why he's upset?" She shrugged again and he sighed. "No, not too much. He's been in kind of a funny mood, hasn't he? I mean, we did speak for a bit that night, but yesterday I left him alone. Do you know why he's acting funny?"

"Yes, but like you, he wants to keep it between the two of us," she said stiffly. "And I'm bound to that, so I can only talk to you about your problem."

"Oh, okay," he said, feeling a shiver of fear. "I haven't offended him though?"

"No, different than that. He'll come around," she said bracingly. "The three of us should do lunch out somewhere. Get us away from here."

"I'd like that," he agreed cautiously. "Why don't you call him? He might respond better to you."

"Okay." She fished her phone out of her pocket. Punching in Billy's number, she let it ring. Machiavelli perched on the couch, listening as the Kid picked up. She put it on speaker phone. "Hey," she called.

"Hey, how's it going?"

"Good. Hey, listen Billy, we were wondering?"

"Is Mac there?" he interrupted. She said yes. "Oh, good. Hey Mac!"

"Hey, caro," Niccolo called, a faint smile breaking over his features. "Where are you, angelo?"

"Ah, I just went for a ride," Billy said, sounding airy, but they could hear the nervousness hiding beneath his jaunty tone. "You know I need to get out of the city. I'm an open air kind of guy."

"Well if you've had enough of your open air, we were wondering if you wanted to go out to lunch somewhere," Scatty broke in.

"Uhm… can we make it a dinner kind of thing? I'm kind of far away."

"Where are you?"

"I'm visiting Fred," Billy mumbled. "I know we just left him last week, but I wanted to- I thought that he… I figured if I was going somewhere I should have a destination in mind. So I went to visit him. So I won't be back in the city for a couple of hours, even if I left right now. Is that alright?" he asked anxiously.

"Yeah, sure. Take your time."

"I know where we can go though, if you don't already have some place in mind," Billy said swiftly. "I've been thinking about it for a while. It's called Ralph's Italian Restaurant- it's the oldest Italian restaurant in the country."

"You usually don't bring me out to Italian restaurants."

"Well that's cause I can't compete with actual Italian food. But they've been around for a hundred and fifteen years, that's almost the same as me. So I figure it's got to be good," Billy's said spiritedly. "Do you want to?"

"Yes, Billy, that sounds lovely," Machiavelli said with half a glance at Scatty to make sure it was okay. "We can meet you there. Say, about seven o'clock?"

"Okay. If you take a taxi over, I can drive us back, obviously. I'll see you in a couple of hours."

~MB~

"Wait, what do you mean you're not coming?" Machiavelli asked, turning to see Scatty already halfway up the steps.

"Just a gentle push in the right direction, Niccolo," she said evasively. "You have fun with him."

"You never give up do you?" he asked, but he wasn't upset with her. It was reassuring to him that she could continue to have faith, even when he began to have his doubts.

She shook her head. "I ordered myself a pizza with your credit card, by the way," she called. He gave her a sardonic wave, and, stepping into the road, flagged down the taxi she'd called. He gave the driver the address of the restaurant, half listening to the man prattle on about the state of the economy and half wondering who had done what in this backseat.

It was almost a relief to arrive at the place, if just to get away from this man's increasingly negative views. He paid his fare before quickly getting out and onto the sidewalk. Walking along briskly, he felt the buzz of his phone, but he'd already saw the Kid up ahead and Billy turned around the next minute, saw him, and put his phone away.

"Where's Scatty?" were the first words Billy said to him and he felt a flash of annoyance. "Is she sick?"

"She said something about wanting a pizza," he murmured, stepping into lobby.

Billy followed close at his heels. "Well, as long as she isn't sick," he said, approaching the manager. "It's under William Bonney, but our third member won't be joining us."

"Right this way," she said, grabbing two menus and leading them through the dining room. Billy held out his hand to let the Italian immortal go first; they were seated in a corner by the window, the Kid taking the seat to the right of Machiavelli.

"You're more dressed up than I thought you'd be," Niccolo commented to Billy.

The outlaw flashed a smile. "I realized that we were going to a fancy restaurant about a half hour ago, so I bought a pair of dress pants and the shirt at a suit shop and changed in the car. I always keep a tie in the glove compartment…"

"Why, you never wear ties?"

"That's true, but I threw this tie in there about 2 decades ago and I've never taken it out since. I don't intentionally keep it in the glove compartment, I just do, is what I should say." Billy fiddled with the menu, flipping through pages rapidly, without really looking at them. He moved his drink over and then moved it again. "What are you going to have?"

"I was thinking of the veal parmigiana," Machiavelli mused. "What about you?"

Billy made his way through the menu again, albeit slower this time. "Chicken trombino. What kind of wine should I get?"

"You never drink."

"I know. But I think I will tonight."

"You would get a white wine, like Sauvignon Blanc," Machiavelli said cautiously. He put his menu down. "How was Fred?"

The outlaw cleared his throat. "He was good. He's happy, I think."

"Good."

There was a nasty moment of silence between the two of them. Machiavelli was beginning to feel butterflies fluttering in his stomach. Something was clearly off between the two of them tonight and he wished now, more than ever, that Scatty had come with them. This was clearly a mistake. They were both relieved when their waitress came over to them. Feeling that it was going to be a long night, he ordered himself a glass of Beaujolais.

"Hey, Mac?" He nodded to show he was listening. "What do you want to eat at Thanksgiving this year?"

He blinked. "I don't know," he said honestly, surprised. "I suppose whatever is customary. I've never celebrated Thanksgiving before. Do you usually celebrate it?"

Billy held up a palm which he rocked back and forth. "Some years. Holidays can be kind of lonely," he admitted. Machiavelli nodded in understanding; the tension between them eased. "After my mother died, I thought I would grow up and have lots of babies and have a big family, but then I became immortal and I realized too late that the two were incompatible."

Machiavelli didn't like the way the conversation was progressing. "Well, we won't be alone this year. That's a good thing."

Billy smiled. "Yeah, that's true. We should actually have a pretty big group of people, won't we, with the Flamels and Scatty and the rest of them?"

"And we'll have each other. I always felt alone before I met you."

"I won't leave you alone again," Billy promised him and Machiavelli relaxed. "We should get together every year for the holidays," he added suddenly.

Machiavelli felt a twinge of fear at the mention of the future. "That shouldn't be hard," he pointed out carefully. "Seeing as we're banded together for the foreseeable future."

They both went quiet when their meal came. Taking a sip of his wine, Machiavelli glanced out at the restaurant around them. There was an older couple at the nearest table, laughing at each other in low tones; he felt jealous of them. They were free to love who they wanted without fear. A young woman two tables down caught his eye as he was looking around and he hurriedly looked down.

"Your birthday's coming up, isn't it?" Niccolo asked the Kid.

Billy looked surprised. "Oh, yeah, it is. Right around Thanksgiving."

"It's the 23rd, isn't it?" Billy nodded. "What would you like for your birthday?"

"You don't have to get me anything," the outlaw laughed. "It'll be enough to have friends around this year. Last year, Black Hawk was on assignment- something for Kukulan- and some of my other friends were scouting a shadow realm."

"So what did you do?"

Billy smiled self-consciously. "Went up to my cabin. There wasn't anywhere to go. It actually fell on Thanksgiving last year, so everywhere is closed, except if I wanted to go shopping."

"You don't strike me as the shopping type."

"No, not really," Billy scoffed.

"Hmm. Well I'm still going to get you something." Almost unconsciously, he touched the pendant around his neck. "I'm going to figure it out."

The Kid laughed. "Okay," he agreed. "I look forward to it. But you know… I'd be happy with a new pair of socks and a chocolate cake."

"I'll let Scatty know that."

"You're a good guy, Mac," Billy told him, grabbing his arm. He squeezed it, smile lines appearing around his eyes. "I've been lucky all my life, barring a few major incidents."

"You deserve to be happy. You're still very young-," Billy laughed a little at that, but he nodded, "-I hope you find someone who makes you happy. Who knows, you might get your big family yet."

He had meant to cheer up Billy, to prove that he could support the American immortal's happiness in whatever form it took, but there was something a little lost about the way Billy was regarding him which made his stomach clench. "I want you to have a family. You deserve it."

"You do too, Mac," Billy pointed out.

"I had a big family," Niccolo reminded him. "Six babies. I should have spent more time with them. You can't imagine how I regret it now…" He cleared his throat. "This has all been very serious. Do you like your dinner?"

"It's good, try some." Before he could do anything, the Kid had speared some of his pasta on his fork and held it out for him. Feeling a little ridiculous, Machiavelli let the outlaw feed him. They were definitely getting some covert looks, but Billy didn't seem to notice. The American immortal used his thumb to swipe away some of the sauce that had trickled down his chin. He forgot how to swallow and choked for a split second before common sense kicked back in. His eyes watering, he cleared his throat. "This is a good restaurant. We should go here more often."

"We should. Niccolo?" Billy was giving him puppy dog eyes.

"Yes, you can have some of mine."

Billy speared a piece of meat immediately, as though afraid the Italian immortal would change his mind. "I was actually going to ask you something different, but this is good too."

"Oh, well what were you going to ask?"

"Do you miss being little? Like you were this summer?"

"Some parts of it, I suppose," Niccolo said hesitantly.

"Like what?" Billy prodded.

"Like… I don't know, Billy, like you reading to me. I liked that. And-," Machiavelli faltered, feeling embarrassed. "The way you talked to me was a little different."

The Kid frowned. "How'd I talk to you differently?"

"I don't know. It's sort of the same, but sort of different. I can't describe it. You told me you loved me more. I know we're both grown men," he stammered. "But it was nice."

Billy was watching him steadily. Machiavelli realized that he didn't know what was going on in the Kid's head- he might think he was stupid or he might be embarrassed by what the Italian was saying- he couldn't tell. "I miss being able to hug you," he offered quietly. "And kiss you goodnight." Niccolo nodded.

"That was nice," he agreed. Machiavelli watched Billy look out the window. "What are you thinking about?"

"I was thinking of ordering dessert, what about you?" Machiavelli pushed the menu aside, laying a heavy hand on it. Billy sighed, but met his gaze. "I'm okay. It's nothing."

"Okay," Machiavelli agreed, taking his hand off.

Billy scanned the menu. "Maybe we should just get something at home? I'm starting to get tired…"

"We can do that."

"Are we getting dessert tonight?" Their waitress was back. Machiavelli was half glad to see her.

"I don't think so," Billy decided. "Unless- wait are you sure you don't want something?" Machiavelli shook his head. Their waitress told them she'd come back with the bill and they nodded.

Billy tapped his knuckles on Machiavelli's arm. "I love you, Niccolo. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, William. You're a good friend."

The Kid paused for a second. "Do you love me too?"

Machiavelli looked over at him. "Of course I do."

Relief flooded the outlaw's features. "I've always been afraid that the relationship we had over the summer was just a fluke," he admitted. "Don't you think that one day you'll wake up and realize you've been hanging around with dumb old Billy?"

"I would never think that about you," Machiavelli said firmly.

Billy nodded, obviously turning it over in his mind. He took the receipt the waitress brought over, holding it up to the light. He spoke out of the corner of his mouth. "Know why I call you Niccolo sometimes?"

"Because it's my name?"

Billy shook his head. "Cause you smile every time I do. And I love your smile."

Machiavelli couldn't help but beam at his companion, feeling a fresh surge of affection for the Kid. "Thank you," he stammered, feeling like his heart had burst. "Nobody ever tells me things like that."

"People should," Billy said earnestly. "I love every time that I see you smile, Niccolo. I want you to be happy, every day."

The Italian immortal didn't know what to say to that. He squeezed Billy's hand under the table, shaking it a little before letting go. "You always make me happy Billy. Life seemed to be standing still for a long time until I met you. I'll pay," he intervened quickly, reaching for his wallet. He left cash on the table.

They grabbed Scatty's to go bag, wending their way out of the restaurant. It was already very dark when they went outside; a thick darkness which seemed to consume them whenever they stepped between the streetlamps. It was a slight sense of relief that Machiavelli recognized Billy's Thunderbird a block up.

Machiavelli got in first, being closer to the car. He watched Billy cross in front and open his door.

Billy got in, ducking his head. He shut the door with a snap. "Okay, let's see where our errant Scathach is," he said, revving the engine.

"Billy can I ask you one last question?"

"Sure." Backing out, he pulled through. He went to put his hand behind Machiavelli's chair, as he usually did when he was driving, but this time, he abruptly decided against it. He shot the Italian immortal a quick, strained smile.

"Do things seem weird between us tonight, William?"

"A little bit," Billy admitted. "That's probably on me. I've been in a funny mood all day."

"Is it my fault?"

"No…"

"Talk to me, Billy," Machiavelli begged. "We can talk about anything. You know how much I love you." He watched the Kid. "Billy, you're still acting strange. You have been all afternoon. Are you feeling all right?"

"Sure," the outlaw said quickly.

"Maybe you're sick again," Niccolo insisted. He put a hand to Billy's forehead at the next stop light. "You don't have a fever."

"I'm just tired, I guess."

"Didn't you sleep last night?"

"I was up for a while… I was thinking about some stuff…" He trailed off, looking evasive.

"Care to share?" Machiavelli prodded a little, starting to worry a little. _Perhaps I did something wrong._

"Not quite yet," Billy said quietly. He glanced again at the tactician. "Don't worry, Mac, this is all on me. I'm not actually trying to keep a secret from you, Mac, I just don't want to go off on some half-baked idea." He paused. "If I haven't figured it out in a week, I'll tell you all about it, okay?"

They pulled up to the brownstone. "I can get the garage door open," Machiavelli offered, opening his door. He ran ahead, pulling the door up and ducking out of the way. He leaned on Billy's window the minute the Kid parked the car; he tapped on it and Billy rolled the window down so they could talk. "Have you ever considered getting a remote garage door opener?"

"And miss you getting your workout, fatso? Wouldn't dream of it."

Niccolo pushed back, mildly offended. "I am in no way fat."

Billy got out of the car; he touched Machiavelli's cheek lightly. "No, Mac, you're… you're perfect. Let's find Scatty," he said abruptly, coughing slightly. "I've had too much wine."

"Just cause you think I'm perfect, you also think you've had too much wine?" Machiavelli asked, jogging up the stairs behind him. "Many people think I'm perfect. They can't all be drunk," the Italian teased.

"You're very funny when you get drunk, Mac."

"I only had one glass. So did you. We're not that drunk," Machiavelli pointed out reasonably.

Billy half smiled. "I suppose that's true."

"You know it is."

They came out on the first floor landing. Billy hitched a full smile on his face, ducking into the living room. "We're home! We brought you a meal in case your pizza didn't work out." Leaning over, he kissed her cheek. Machiavelli sat down by her side, raising his eyebrows at her ever so slightly. He shook his head at her unasked question.


	58. Chapter 58

"So things are good between you two?"

"Things are fine. Did you really think we were going to move in together and start warring with each other?"

"No, it's just that you haven't lived together in a while…" Billy trailed off, looking to Machiavelli for help.

The Italian immortal leaned forward out of his chair. "You know that Billy just worries about all of his friends' happiness. He cares."

"I suppose," Black Hawk said, but Machiavelli was a little off put by the appraising look that the Native American immortal was giving the two of them. Sitting in Billie's apartment, he was under the impression that the warrior still was suspicious about the two of them. Abruptly, Black Hawk changed the topic. "What do you think the girls are talking about?"

"Dunno…" Billy muttered.

Machiavelli shrugged. He had a feeling he knew.

Black Hawk was like a hound dog picking up on a scent. Sitting forward, he glanced at Machiavelli again, then at Billy, looking at them with a keen expression on his features. The Italian immortal wondered if Billy was picking up on this and if it was making him as nervous as it was making him.

The two female immortals came back in from the kitchen at this point, Scatty still clutching a Chinese food container. Billie took one look around the room and swore. "Jesus, what's wrong with you guys?"

"Just missing our lovely ladies," Machiavelli told her, trying desperately not to sound ironic or sarcastic. He felt genuinely relieved that they were back, hoping that they would start a new conversation to dispel the awkwardness that had descended in their absence, but-

"I was just telling them how good things were going here."

Machiavelli observed Billy wince ever so minutely out of the corner of his eye; for a minute he wondered if this was provoked by jealousy, but a minute later, he realized that the Kid was foreseeing a somehow even less comfortable conversation.

"I miss my freedom," Billie declared.

The Italian immortal thought he might bite through his tongue, trying not to say anything, anything at all, in response to this statement of facts. _I like Billie, Billie is my friend,_ he chanted in his head, hoping beyond hope that the Native American immortal wasn't secretly sensitive.

Black Hawk leaned back and huffed at her, but he seemed amused. "I'm not that bad."

"It's been a while since you've gone anywhere with just Billy- you know, this one- maybe you should have a guy's night out," Machiavelli suggested.

The Native American looked at him. "You don't want to come?"

"I didn't consider it," Machiavell said, surprised.

"Aren't you a guy?"

"Well, yes."

"So why wouldn't you come out with us on a 'guy's night out'?"

 _God damn it,_ Machiavelli thought crabbily. _I was trying to help you._ "I thought you'd enjoy it more with Billy, since he's your best friend."

Black Hawk seemed to realize that he was being something of an ass because he relented a little. "You're fun to spend time with too." He gave Machiavelli a wolf smile. "Like that night we went to the bar, we should do that again." He slapped Billy. "This time you can compete against him. See who gets more girls."

Billy laughed, but it was a hollow kind of laugh. Black Hawk, taking a sip from his beer, didn't seem to notice, but Machiavelli picked up on it. He fretted a little where he was sitting; Billy had been acting funny all week. For the thousandth time, he wished the Kid would just tell him what was going on.

Lady Day leaned forward. "You know what would spice up our relationship is to have more interesting sex."

Billy laughed, and Black Hawk frowned. "Come off it," he protested. "The sex we have is fine."

"Yeah, but it's boring making love in your own apartment day in and day out," she argued.

"Missing my bathroom, are you?" Billy said, taking the cardboard carton from Scatty and using her chopsticks to pop a piece of chicken in his mouth.

"You did have nice… draperies," she said coyly, smirking at him. "You could make up for it by lending us your car," she added. Billy choked on the piece of chicken. Coughing a high, unpleasant cough, he grimaced and shook his head. Grabbing her food back, Scatty edged off the couch and sat with the Italian immortal instead.

"No, Billy would actually kill us if we messed around in his car," Black Hawk commented.

Billie leaned forward. "You're trying to tell me you've never done anything in that car of yours. Honey, I remember people who bought that car just to have sex in it."

"Nothing sexual happens in my car."

"Nothing at all? No hand stuff? You really want me to believe that you haven't bent some-"

"I mean to say that I've never done anything sexual- of any kind- in that car and never will," Billy interrupted stiffly. "And Black Hawk's right. Either one of you screws around in the backseat, I'll find a way to kill you. I don't care what I have to do." He pointed at both of them, giving them the evil eye.

"Tough luck, Niccolo," Scatty whispered in his ear, leaning in so the others couldn't hear.

Machiavelli waited until the other immortals were too distracted by their argument. "Minor setback," he murmured back and she grinned. "I'll find a way." But he sounded more optimistic than he really was.

It was a few days after Machiavelli and Billy's impromptu date. The two immortals were still skirting around each other, not quite at odds with each other, but perhaps both sensing something odd in the other one. _Scatty must be getting tired of it_ , Machiavelli thought, _for her to suggest that we come over to Billie's apartment_. From what he could tell, the two female immortals still did not consider each other 'best friends'; it was a very tenuous tolerance between the two.

"When's the last time you had sex?" Lady Day asked loudly, interrupting Niccolo's thoughts through sheer volume. She poked Billy between the ribs. Machiavelli couldn't help but wait for the Kid's answer.

Billy didn't answer though- not right away. Rubbing his ribs, he deflected. "What makes you think I haven't had sex recently?"

"I don't know what happened to you, but you've gotten whipped somewhere along the way," she decided. "I remember that skinny boy in the sixties who went to bed every night with a different girl. Where'd he go?" she demanded.

Billy flushed. "You're making me sound like a real womanizer. It wasn't a different girl every night."

"Maybe a different girl every week, then," Black Hawk drawled, not really helping the American immortal's cause. He grinned at the outlaw, relishing Billy's discomfort.

Billy glanced over at where Scatty and Machiavelli were sitting. "It wasn't that bad," he told them, pleadingly. The Italian immortal fancied himself that Billy's eyes lingered on his, but he was probably imagining it.

"I believe you," Machiavelli said, though his mind raced back to the photo album currently hidden in his bedside table. Scatty gave him a little side glance, but he fixed his eyes on the American immortal.

"You haven't answered either of my questions," Billie reminded him, flopping down beside the outlaw.

"What questions?" he asked, trying to play dumb.

"I asked you when you last had sex and where the real Billy the Kid went."

"Well, recently," he revealed unwillingly and Machiavelli felt his heart clench, "and hi! I'm right here." He smiled at her charmingly.

"What's recently?" she asked suspiciously.

"I don't have to answer that," he said politely, but firmly. She sighed. He shook his head, but continued to smile at her. Machiavelli realized that he'd been squeezing Scatty's hand; he was unsure as to when he'd started holding it. She squeezed his fingers just slightly and he let go. Luckily, nobody had seen them in the semi-darkness of the room.

"Well, the good news is I'm going to move over to Nora's apartment permanently. Despite what she says, we have fun over here," Black Hawk said lazily. "That'll give you more room again."

"Things are working out good for the two of you, then?"

"He's a fun fuck," Billie said dismissively. "It's just when he starts getting too attached that things stop being copacetic."

"I think I've learned my lesson this time," he told her wryly. Looking over at the Kid, he began to ask after some items he'd apparently left over at the Rittenhouse apartment. Billy had apparently brought it over; he remarked that it was in the trunk of the Thunderbird.

Watching them, Machiavelli couldn't help but feel a little sad for the Native American immortal. He couldn't imagine living their arrangement and he wondered if Black Hawk was really as okay with it as he made himself out to be. Still, he had greater concerns at the moment. _What had Billy meant by recently?_ Brushing his nose against Scatty's hair, he whispered in her ear, "Can you find that out for me?"

She must have understood because she squeezed his hand again and muttered out of the side of her mouth, "I can try."

~MB~

"I want to ask you something," Scatty said to Billy, following him down the stairs.

He waited for her on the next landing, looking apprehensive. "Okay?"

"You said that you've had sex recently," she said directly, almost accusingly. "How recently is recently? I'm not asking for the sake of gossip, I'm asking because of what you told me Saturday night," she added in response to the look he gave her. "And you have to be honest with me, because I'm trying to help you."

"Probably not as recently as Black Hawk took it, but I had to get him off my back," Billy explained, heading down the stairs, Scathach on his heels. He quelled under her look. "In May. Before I met Machiavelli. Her name was…"

"I don't care what her name was," Scatty whispered harshly. She smacked his arm and he yelped, but didn't bother protesting, feeling that he probably deserved it. The chill of the night was a shock to them both as they exited the building, though more so for Billy than the Shadow. "You're a grown man. What are you doing? You've got Machiavelli thinking that you're out having sex with a bunch of women. No wonder-" She caught herself at the last moment.

Billy paused by his car, looking hurt. "No wonder what? This is all very new, Scatty. I know I'm making mistakes," he whispered. "But I always do. Do you think I deserve to be alone?"

"No," she said immediately, backing off a little. Drawing her sweater around her, she glanced down the deserted street. "No, Billy, but you've got to figure out what you want and stop shooting yourself in the foot. You're never going to get Niccolo if you don't. If you want him to start looking at you in a new way, you have to act differently, you've got to stand up to Black Hawk, you are your own man…"

Billy considered her words. What she was saying wasn't mean, but he still felt some hesitancy in doing what she was suggesting. He could go sit down with Machiavelli… _but what if Mac didn't feel the same way?_ He'd rather have the daydream that his friend might someday feel the same way about him than to find out for sure that he would never love him that way. "I'll try," he ventured, at last.

Ducking into his trunk, he shifted around some of the boxes that had never been unpacked. "Here's those things Black Hawk left," he said, pulling out a bag. He glanced up at the street light above them and then sat on the fender of his car, patting it so that Scatty would sit with him. "Scatty can I ask you something now? Do the things I feel make me a gay man? I've never been gay. I always liked girls."

"You're still the same person, Billy. You're quick to love and fiercely loyal. You laugh a lot. You make the people around you very happy. I wouldn't… I wouldn't limit anything that might make you happy."

"I just wonder about it. I never thought of myself as a gay man," he repeated. "It's kind of strange, isn't it, to go over a hundred years thinking you're one way and then you find out you're not? I'm not sure that I'm gay," he said, sounding a bit desperate even to his own ears. "I think it's just Mac that I love."

"You're Niccolosexual?" she asked, making him laugh.

"Yeah, I think I might be."

Scatty seemed satisfied with that. She cuffed him gently on the back of his head. "Hey, Billy?"

"Yeah?"

"Since we're being really open with each other, can I ask you something?"

 _Mac would hold out for a deal, so hold out for a deal,_ he thought, amusing himself. He shook his head. He couldn't bring himself to do it. "Sure. What do you want to ask?"

"Are you just in love with Niccolo or do you also want to have sex with him?" she asked immediately, tilting her head as she studied him.

He blushed. "Why does everyone want to know about my sex life?" he asked, half exasperated, but also laughing a little. The Kid ducked his head, pondering it to himself. Looking up again, he gave her a shy smile. "I knew it," she crowed, punching the air. He laughed self-consciously, hurriedly messing up the back of his hair with his hand.

"He's an attractive man," he said defensively.

"Do you ever picture him naked?" Scatty asked, laughing. She slipped backwards into the trunk, watching him closely, he noticed.

"No!" he yelped. "…Not consciously."

"But now you are, aren't you?"

"Little bit," he said, holding his fingers about an inch apart. "I've seen the tip."

"I've seen the whole package," she teased.

"He's got to be pretty big," he said searchingly to her, giving her a fleeting look. "Cause on the rare occasions he comes down in his boxers, he hangs out of them a bit, have you noticed that?"

"I've noticed you encouraging him."

"I don't necessarily encourage him," Billy protested feebly, but she gave him an arch look.

"Our thermostat is normally set at 65, but somehow magically, it creeps up to 78 right about the time he's getting out of bed?"

"He's Mediterranean, I want him to be warm."

"You want him to be hot so he's half naked," she accused.

"But don't you think he's sexy?"

She considered it. "He's good looking," she agreed dubiously. "But I'm not sexually attracted to him, no."

He gestured to his own crotch. "But you've seen him naked, how can you not be attracted to that?" he said, stammering, but laughing also.

"I couldn't be attracted to him any more than you are to me. He's my friend. So are you. And you're both-," she stopped again and he wondered what she wanted to say. He looked at her keenly, but she just ground her teeth a little. "I couldn't be in love with Niccolo, knowing that you are meant to be with him."

He brightened. "Do you really think that Scatty?"

"Of course I do. Watching the two of you moon at each other is right up there with watching those two idiots," she jabbed her thumb in the direction of Billie's apartment, "spar emotionally with each other."

"I think Black Hawk's coming on too strong again and she's feeling smothered," he said. "They're not good for each other in that way. And the more Billie pushes away, the more he's going to try to win her over."

"Have you ever talked to him about it?"

He looked uncomfortable. "Tried. It didn't go well. Now I've just resigned myself to letting it happen. Who knows? They might change." He kissed her cheek, hopping down to the street. "They're going to wonder where we are," he said, puffs of cold air forming with each word. "We should go back up."

"I've got the bag."

Walking up the stairs, Scatty seemed to want to get a few more questions in. "You're not just going to have sex with him, are you?"

"No, of course not," he exclaimed, looking scandalized. "I could have sex with anyone. I want to be with him cause- cause it's like he's the last piece to me and I didn't know I was even missing that part of me."

She bumped shoulders with him and, looking over at him, he realized that she'd purposefully refocused him. He gave her a tiny smile. "Tricked me again. You were always very smart."

"You're going to have to tell me what you want to do with him," she teased.

They were at the first landing. Billy lingered. "I don't know what to do," he confessed. They started up the second flight of stairs. "I'm a little nervous about the thought of- of-you know."

"Having gay sex?"

"I'd look like an idiot," he whispered harshly. They were on the third floor and almost there. He grabbed her arm, needing to talk about it. "When I think about him, I… I want- you know- I want to be with him," he said very fast, willing himself not to turn red. "But what if I'm not… good? I've always been good with women, but that's completely different."

She smiled. "Billy, you've wanted to screw him since you saw him fingering that girl."

That sobered Billy up. "I'd forgotten about her."

Scatty shook her head, wincing. "Sorry," she apologized, a rare admission from her. "That's not what I meant. I was just trying to say that you might be nervous, but you also know what you want. Everyone's nervous the first time. And face it, this wouldn't definitely be a first for you. So don't focus on that other time."

Billy felt like the happy balloon in his chest had just popped unexpectedly. He didn't want Scatty to feel bad though; hitching on a smile, he nodded. "No, I won't focus on it." _But,_ he thought to himself, _perhaps I was better off being ignorant about my feelings._

"Kid, you're not fooling me."

"I never could fool anybody," he admitted. "I have a very expressive face."

"Don't think that you don't have a chance with Niccolo," she told him.

"You're being very nice to me," he said, moving towards Billie's door. "But I have to think about what I want to do with this… What am I going to say to him when I go back in there?"

"Why don't you just give him a big kiss," she said, prodding him in the back.

"Nah, I don't think so."

She studied him. "You'll be fine, Billy. Weren't you just telling me that Machiavelli hasn't had sex in like four hundred years?"

"Except for that time with that girl."

"Ignore that time. I wouldn't read a lot into it. He was drunk and a bit… upset."

"Maybe…" But Billy wasn't sure he wanted to take her advice. They went back in the apartment and the first thing he noticed was the absence of the immortal they'd just been discussing. "Where is he?" he asked Black Hawk.

"Who, Niccolo?" The burly man pointed in the direction of Billie's bedroom. "That girl called him. He's in talking with her."

"Oh. Oh, okay. Well, I'm getting tired," Billy said softly, suddenly. He looked desperately over at the Shadow. "Want to go in and see if he's ready to go home?"

"Sure," she sighed. Moving past him, she touched his back gently. "I'll go get him."


	59. Chapter 59

Billy and Scatty were quiet on the drive back, listening to their Italian companion talking on the phone and not looking at each other. It wasn't until they'd turned onto their road that Niccolo finally ended the call. He yawned as he got out of the car, following the others through the kitchen.

"Mon dieu, was their apartment ever tense," he sighed, trudging up the stairs. Billy nodded, not trusting himself to speak just yet. The Italian immortal didn't seem to notice though- quite tired, he kissed Scatty on the cheek, yawning again. "I'm going to take a shower. I'll see you tomorrow. Billy, I won't be long." Billy nodded to show that he'd heard.

Scatty touched the Kid's elbow; for a moment, they stood hearing the sound of the water running in the pipes. "Want to talk?"

"Nah, not just yet, honey," he sighed. "Maybe tomorrow…" She nodded sadly; he kissed her, feeling very absentminded, and went upstairs.

Sitting on the edge of their bed, he tried to puzzle the situation out in his head. Mac was going to go on another 'date' with Jill… _What did that mean?_ He wanted to believe the Italian immortal when he said that these dates meant nothing, but instead he felt a rush of jealousy and that emotion was not typical for him.

And then there was his other issue… Glancing furtively at the door, he grabbed his laptop off of the armchair in the corner and started it, impatient for it to boot up. Leaving it on the bed, he scrambled into a pair of sweatpants and left his shirt off. He climbed into bed, finally hearing the beginning notes of the startup.

Cocking his head, he listened for the sound of the shower- Machiavelli was still in there. He knew from experience that despite what the Italian had said, he would likely be in there for at least a little while. Opening up the internet, he typed in the URL of a porn site that he sometimes frequented and switched off the other lights in the room for a little added privacy.

Instead of staying on the home page however, he did something unusual for him- under categories, he clicked on the icon marked 'gay', bringing up a ton of videos he'd never looked at before. Scrolling through, he picked a thumbnail showing a well-endowed Mediterranean man. He felt himself unexpectedly growing aroused- his prick twitched in anticipation- and he almost shut his laptop. He snagged his pair of headphones and put in one of the buds, giving the door another weary glance.

He found himself speeding through the beginning- even the flimsiest of pornographic backstories was taking up too much of his time- playing the video only when he saw the two men beginning to strip.

His mouth went dry the minute the olive skinned man was completely naked. The pornstar climbed on the bed, crouching on his hands and knees, his erection bobbing away from his body like a dog in heat, and his partner entered the shot, crouching behind him to give him a rim job. Wrapping his fingers around himself, Billy made an odd moaning noise that he would have been ashamed to make with any person, sexual partner or otherwise, in the room. Jerking his hand back and forth, he found that it was almost too much- he arched his back, using his other hand to flick at his nipple.

He tried to imagine what it would be like to have someone do the things that he was watching to himself, but found that he couldn't. Still, even the attempt to picture Machiavelli performing a sexual act on himself was enough to drive him over the edge, enough to make him come with loose jerks of the hand.

Hearing the water turn off, he hurriedly closed the page he was on, signed off, and threw the laptop back onto the chair. He rolled over on his side, trying his best to appear to be asleep.

He heard the door unlatch and Niccolo edge in. "Billy?" Machiavelli breathed and he made a snuffling noise. The other immortal seemed to accept this as a sign that he was asleep, for which he was very grateful; he wasn't prepared to talk with the older man, not now, not when he'd just spent the last twenty minutes fantasizing about him…

"You must have been tired. I'll tell you in the morning," he heard Machiavelli mumble and he felt a pang of curiosity- he wanted to know now, despite himself. He was just considering 'waking up' when he heard the rustle of a towel dropping to the ground and no, he was completely unprepared to talk to the Italian when he was naked, his curiosity was going to have to wait…

Machiavelli was getting dressed- Billy could hear the soft opening and closing of the closet door and the way Machiavelli's bone's popped just slightly when he stood on one leg. Being so near to him when he was knowingly naked was making Billy feel very… tight, just around his midriff and he stuffed the corner of his pillow in his mouth, fighting the urge to groan again.

Finally- it seemed to take hours- Machiavelli slipped into bed. Billy wondered what he was thinking about because instead of lying down right away, the tactician was sitting up, propped up on his knees. After a couple of seemingly endless minutes of this, the Italian finally shifted, straightening out his long legs, getting ready to lie down.

Billy almost let out a squeak when he felt Niccolo's long fingers on his side. "Billy, are you really asleep?" Machiavelli whispered. He was afraid he was going to do something stupid, like nod. He stayed perfectly still, hoping the other man couldn't tell he was still awake. "Okay… okay, Billy, good night," Niccolo sighed.

Lying down, he did the one thing that Billy had never expected him to do- he kissed the back of the outlaw's shoulder, just softly, but the Kid couldn't help it- he exhaled. Machiavelli must have been nervous- he rolled away immediately, getting more firmly on his side of the bed. He yanked the covers up around him and Billy was left to wonder if he'd made the right decision. Somehow, he felt that he hadn't.

Billy heard the exact moment when his bed companion fell asleep. His breath smoothing out, Machiavelli made a mewing sound that made the Kid chuckle despite himself.

Rolling over carefully, he looked at the Italian in the soft moonlight. _He's so handsome,_ he couldn't help but thinking. He wondered what that kiss had meant. A feeling like hope sprang into his chest, lighting a little fire.

Lying there, he felt his thoughts drift back to the video he'd just watched. Images of Niccolo superimposed themselves on his train of thought; he could feel himself getting aroused again, a confused arousal, yes, but a definite one and he knew that what he'd told Scatty hadn't been wrong- he wanted to touch and be touched by the Italian, he wanted to know what it felt like to be pinned under someone equally as strong as himself, and to let himself be taken…

He really hoped that Machiavelli was asleep because he couldn't help it- he let a moan. His whole body arched and he gave the Italian immortal one quick glance before he pushed down his briefs, throwing them on the ground beside him. "Fuck," he whispered.

~MB~

The next morning, Niccolo found Billy nursing a cup of coffee in the kitchen.

"Ah, Billy, don't you usually turn the heat up by now?" Machiavelli asked, sticking his hands in his armpits to warm them up. He shivered; he'd gotten used to the Kid's somewhat strange practice of dialing up the heat in the beginning of the morning and had come to like it. Now, he felt especially cold.

"I forgot… Isn't that my shirt?'

"It was… But it's warm and I'm cold so it's mine now. You can have it back in the summer."

"But I won't need it in the summer."

Machiavelli stole Billy's cup of coffee, quite blatantly in fact. "Exactly. Buy yourself a new shirt," he told the other man, feeling the surge of bright happiness that always seemed to come with teasing the American immortal. He took a sip of the outlaw's coffee, made a face, and got himself a fresh mug. Billy snatched his cup back, maybe afraid he might dump it out. "And before you get all high and mighty, aren't those my boxers?" he added, motioning to the Kid's midriff.

Billy pointed to the buzzing washer and dryer. "I didn't have any left. Did you want me to go naked?"

 _Yes, definitely._ He coughed, his coffee going down the wrong pipe. Machiavelli held up his hands. "Fine, keep the boxers. It's an even swap."

"I'm washing your clothes too," Billy told him, handing him a plate with blueberry pancakes on it and grabbing another. "Scatty took your dry cleaning when she went for her walk too."

"How long was I in bed?" Niccolo wondered, feeling like he wouldn't be surprised if the outlaw told him they'd relocated while he was sleeping.

"We're just early risers, Scatty and me," Billy laughed. He headed upstairs and Machiavelli, shivering slightly in their cold kitchen, was quick to follow. "You like to sleep in more."

"It was very hard to leave the bed this morning," Machiavelli admitted, sitting at their dining room table. "Going from five or six layers of warmth to the arctic tundra, not very appealing."

"It's like 65 degrees, Mac," the Kid laughed. He smiled to himself nonetheless, getting up to set the thermostat. "Happy? It's at 75 now. We're going to roast our nuts."

Machiavelli was glad Billy seemed happier this morning. The American immortal had seemed rather down by the time they'd gotten home last night; he wondered if he was to blame. The switch in Billy's personality had come only after he'd hung up with Jillian. He wanted to tell the outlaw that it was nothing, that she'd called to talk about her problems with her parents, and that she desperately needed a friend, but there was something closed off on this particular topic which kept him from saying anything at all.

And then Billy had been asleep by the time he'd finished showering, and he couldn't say anything to him.

In the end, he really wanted the American immortal to just be happy. He wondered if Billy would come with him when he met up with Jill; he didn't like it when the people in his life were at odds with each other.

"Hey, Mac, can I ask you something?"

"Of course, Billy."

"Are you going to start dating Jill?"

Machiavelli was so surprised he laughed a little. He stopped quickly, seeing the look on Billy's face; he wondered why the American immortal cared. "No. No, but we are going to have lunch tomorrow. Will you come with us?"

"You want me to come with you?" Billy asked, confused.

"Yes, I want you to meet her. I think you'll understand better if you knew her in person." Machiavelli touched his elbow. "She's not a bad person. She reminds me of my daughter."

"Which daughter?" Billy asked wearily.

"Primerana. Baccina was much more outgoing, but Primerana and Jill, they're rather shy. Anyways, Jill said it was helpful to her, talking with me the other day and she deserves to be happy, she's a sweet girl, so will you come?"

Billy still hesitated, but he couldn't mask his relief. "You have no interest in her?" he asked again.

"No," Machiavelli repeated, wondering what Billy's hang up could be. "You'll like her," he enticed pleadingly.

The Kid teetered for only a second more. "Okay, I'll go," he agreed.

"Good." Pleased beyond relief, the Italian reached out for his companion, cradling the Kid's face between his hands. He froze, not sure what he'd been thinking, but, giving Billy a pat on the cheek, felt that the outlaw hadn't been offended. In fact, Billy was smiling rather wistfully at him. "You should bring Black Hawk out somewhere tonight before they both kill each other," he suggested.

The Kid grimaced slightly. "He wants to go to a bar and I've had enough of bars for a while… Think there's any way to get him to go somewhere else?"

"You could try… like where?" Machiavelli asked cautiously, releasing him.

"I don't know," Billy admitted. "He's going to be hard to sway from his original plan."

"Well, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to go to a bar," the Italian said quietly, giving him an appraising look. "Despite all of his awful bets, Black Hawk and I actually had fun last time we went out."

"Really?" The Kid grimaced slightly. He clearly didn't want to go to a bar and Machiavelli took pity on him.

"I'll do whatever you want, William. If you don't want to go to bar, tell Black Hawk. You're a grown man," he added, unknowingly echoing Scatty's words. "Stand up for yourself. Black Hawk's your friend, he won't be upset if you are honest."

"Oh," Billy said, looking slightly upset. "Well, if you really think so, I'll try talking to him."

Machiavelli glanced at the outlaw. "Billy… you promised you'd tell me what was going on at the end of the week if you hadn't sorted it out beforehand. You're still going to follow through with that, aren't you?"

The Kid inhaled. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll talk to you."

"Good." He couldn't help it; he reached over and fixed the collar of Billy's shirt. "I was hoping to talk to you last night, but you were asleep by the time I'd finished my shower." He still wondered if Billy had been pretending to sleep when he came back. The Kid normally snored, softly, but still audibly and he hadn't really last night, though he snuffled the way he did when he was dreaming.

Billy ducked his head and Niccolo felt his suspicions grow. "Yeah, I was tired."

Machiavelli felt the weariness creeping back into their conversation. "You know William, I-," but he was cut off by the doorbell ringing. "Who could that be?"

"Dunno…"

They were the only ones in the house. Scatty had gone off, for what purpose she hadn't shared with them, so glancing at each other, they made their way down the stairs to the first floor.

Machiavelli reached the door first and pulled it open. "Hello? Sophie?" he asked in surprise.

The girl they'd met on Alcatraz island all those months ago, the one they'd been on opposite sides with, was standing at their doorstep. "Can I come in? she asked.

"Of course," Machiavelli said smoothly, already concealing his surprise. "Billy… you remember Josh's twin?"

"Yeah," he said, surprise much more clearly visible on his face. "Yeah, uh, what are you doing here? Not that we're not glad to…"

She ducked into their front hall and Machiavelli closed the door behind her, reflexively sealing it with his aura. Something was clearly wrong; giving her a once over, he noticed that her clothing was ripped in several places, she looked older than when he'd last saw her- too much older for it to be the passing of the months- and with a jolt, he realized her temple was bleeding slightly.

"Call Scatty," he told Billy. "Let her know to come back." Without a word, he pressed his hand to her temple; letting his aura spill out of his hands, he healed the cut on her forehead.

"Right," Billy said slowly, going into the other room to grab his phone. "Yeah, I will."

"Why don't you come into the living room," he suggested to her. "Sophie- how did you know to find us here? And what's happened?"

"I was in a different Shadowrealm until just recently," she explained faintly. "Why do you look younger?"

"Long story. I promise to tell you eventually. But where were you?'

She shook her head. "It's not important where I was. I was looking for my brother- I know that he's not the same, but he's still my brother," she said firmly, catching a glance between the two male immortals. "I got into some trouble with a creature on the other side… so I came back through a lye gate. I came out around New York."

"But how did you know to find us here?" Billy asked, hanging up his phone after a very brief conversation.

"I didn't know what to do… So I called Nick. And he directed me down here."

"Well, you're welcome here of course, but I wonder why he didn't call us," Billy mused aloud.

"We'll have to ask him when he comes up on Sunday. Miss Sophie, would you like to take a shower-? I'm sure Scatty would be fine with you borrowing some clothes…"

"Yeah, she did say that," Billy remembered suddenly. "Sorry, forgot."

"Yeah, so why don't you take a hot shower? You can tell us your story afterwards," Machiavelli suggested, pointing her upstairs. She nodded gratefully, taking the steps slowly. "I'm going to have to postpone my lunch with Jill…" he mumbled.

Next to him, Billy brightened a little.


	60. Chapter 60

AN: Hey Kim (are you sure you're not my friend in Keene, NH?)- I will of course be writing a Christmas arch to the story, but it won't come for a while because of the dramatically slow pacing of my story line! We haven't even crossed Thanksgiving yet, here ;) Here's part of a Christmas chapter though- hope it makes up for it. Happy holidays to everyone- LilacsandMonarda

 _"I could be wrong Billy," Machiavelli called through his scarf. "But isn't it customary to carry your Christmas tree home on your car?"_

 _"Not when you own a convertible."_

 _"Yeah about that," Machiavelli shouted over the wind. "We really need to get another car for the winter time. I will pay for it!"_

 _"You don't like my baby?" Billy said in mock horror, wheeling around. The tree he'd been carrying almost smacked Machiavelli in the head and he apologized, coming closer to the Italian immortal._

 _"Not in the winter time," Niccolo told him sternly, eyebrows raised._

 _"I'm only teasing you, honey," Billy assured him. "I'll find you a safe car. Something with a big back seat." He waggled his eyebrows. "Anyways, we cut this tree in the woods behind our own property, it's not like we've been walking for miles."_

 _So saying, he turned around and walked on jauntily, the tree dragging behind him. Grumbling, Machiavelli picked his way after the younger man, stepping in Billy's footprints, and wishing he'd worn better shoes._

* * *

The two male immortals were momentarily quiet, listening to the shower running upstairs. "What do you think happened?" Billy asked curiously, unconsciously moving closer to the tactician. He took Machiavelli's hand, still looking above them as though the answers would appear neatly written upon his ceiling.

"She was looking for Josh, but she must know what happened to him. If he doesn't want to be found, he won't be…"

Billy shrugged, finally looking back at Machiavelli. "Well, look at us," he pointed out. "Hundreds of years later, we're still looking for our loved ones."

"I suppose… I wonder which shadow realm she was in though…"

"Think this is going to push us back on finding my mother?" Billy asked suddenly, softly, and he squeezed Machiavelli's fingers. The Italian ran his thumb over the scars covering the outlaw's hands and realized that at the center of his friend was a young boy who'd lost his mother very early. He opened his mouth to say that he wouldn't allow that, but they were interrupted by knocking.

"That must be Scatty," he said instead.

It was like they'd just realized how close they were standing, how they'd been holding hands. Releasing him from his grasp, Billy ducked over to the front hall, where he pulled the door open. "Forget your key?"

"No, I sealed it with my aura," Machiavelli called behind him, making his way over at a much slower pace.

"Oh."

"So, Sophie's here?" Scatty asked archly, pushing the door shut at last. Machiavelli shivered as the last tendrils of cold air seeped in under his suit. He was kind of glad that Billy had forgotten to turn up the heat this morning; in a weird way, it had forced him to get dressed early on. Otherwise, he would have been very much underdressed when the teenager ( _was she still a teenager?_ ) came to their door.

They all looked up as the water was shut off. "I'm going to go up," Scatty decided, already making her way up the stairs.

"We'll wait here," Billy said faintly, making his way into the living room. He sank into his armchair. Machiavelli followed, resting a hand on the Kid's shoulder as he passed. Instead of sitting on the couch, he pulled one of the chairs by the chess table over, so that he could sit beside the younger man.

"There's no reason why this will interfere with our plans to find your mother," he said at last, thinking vaguely in the back of his mind that he would like to touch Billy again, to hold his hand or even rest a hand on his knee that was sticking out at such an odd angle, but he didn't dare, not so soon after the last time. He sat on his hands instead, wondering why sitting with the other man always made him feel like he'd been electrified.

Billy still looked a bit mournful. "Thinks so?"

"I really do," Machiavelli told him, and found that he really meant it. "You've waited long enough."

The Kid gave a him a look so charged with gratitude that Machiavelli felt as though he'd just swallowed an entire mug of coffee in one gulp. His insides warm, he leaned forward. "I want you to find her. I'm not about to let anything- or anyone- get in between you and our course of action."

"I want to find her," he agreed immediately. They could hear two sets of footsteps on the stairs. "Hey, Mac, don't forget to cancel your date," Billy reminded him softly.

"I had forgotten," he mumbled, fishing his phone out of his pocket. He punched her number in, waiting for the call to connect. He was slightly relieved when it went directly to voicemail. "Hi Jill, this is… this is Niccolo. I'm sorry to cancel on you but something came up…"

Billy listened carefully as he spoke. He watched Machiavelli's face; the Italian could feel his eyes on him and he gave the outlaw a faint smile, finally ending his message. He pushed the red circle on his phone twice, impatiently. "Sorry, Mac."

"You're not actually sorry," the Italian told him, but he wasn't angry. He gave a small smile to the other man, seeing something like fear flit over Billy's face. "I know you."

"I just-," Billy began awkwardly, but then they heard the footsteps on the stairs getting louder and he faltered. They waited for the females in total silence; wanting things to be better, Machiavelli touched Billy's elbow in supplication and felt the outlaw relax just slightly. Crossing his arms, Billy rested his hand on top of the Italian's.

Scatty appeared first, giving them a curious, searching look before she ushered in the enchantress. Sophie sat on their couch, looking at them with a keen expression on her face. Again, Machiavelli got the impression that she'd changed since the last time they'd seen each other.

"Are you alright?" Billy asked, on his left.

She nodded, leaning forward. "Scatty fixed my forehead. It was really just a scratch." She sounded faintly impatient. Her blue eyes traveled from Billy's face to Machiavelli's. "Are you two together?"

The Kid's head snapped up from where he'd been looking down at his phone. "Together?" he squeaked. "No, why do you think that?"

"Well, you're still living together and Scatty tells me it's been five months since our adventure… And you seem close." She shrugged. "Figured I'd ask."

Billy was still a faint shade of pink. He threw a quick glance over at the Italian immortal. "We are close," he allowed, "but we're not- I'm not…"

Machiavelli thought he'd save Billy from whatever embarrassment he was going through. "We're working together on a few shared projects. I was… sick this summer. Billy took care of me."

"Scatty said something about that. Is that why you look younger? Your hair is dark."

The tactician ran a hand through his hair nervously. "Yes, I…"

"He saved me," Billy interjected quickly. "It nearly killed him," he explained, speaking softly. "And- it turned time around a bit with him. He was brought back to about three years old, weren't you? I don't know why that specific age…"

"Nick and I thought it was because I had used up so much aura, my body was transformed back to where it would have been at the level that was left… We thought perhaps every person has a certain amount of aura for each stage in life." Machiavelli shrugged. He looked over at the young woman. "I age back a year every week or so. My mental capacities were always there, but physically, I couldn't take care of myself alone. So Billy's been with me."

"And you're going to go all the way back to where you were before?

He hesitated. "Nick has a spell which could stop the aging process. I might choose to stop at a younger age," he said vaguely.

"Like what age?" Billy asked curiously.

"I was thinking like maybe in my thirties." It occurred to Machiavelli that they rarely discussed things of this nature. He wondered what else the Kid might be thinking about, but wasn't saying. "Anyways," he said, redirecting the flow of the conversation, "I told you why I look younger. Why do you look older?"

She touched her face self-consciously before the mask slipped back on. "After Danu Talis, I brought the other immortals back to this world, as well as some Elders. Josh was already gone by then. So I've been tracking him." She made an irritated noise at the back of her throat. "He doesn't want me to find him, is the problem. So I've been trekking through a few shadow realms and time works differently there. Five months have passed her, but seven years passed in there…"

And that was all she would say on the matter. "I never did ask Joan how they got back," Scatty said from her place by the window. "Well, now we know. So what are your next steps?"

"I'm going back into the realm from a different door," she said stubbornly.

"How do you know that Ma- Josh is in that particular realm?" Machiavelli asked, leaning forward.

"I can still sense where he is," she said stubbornly.

"What if you get hurt again?"

"I won't. Last time I was surprised, is all."

"Wait a minute," Billy interrupted all of them. "You've gained your immortality."

They all looked at him. "How could you possibly tell that?" she asked, genuine surprise on her face.

He was searching her face, his tilted to the side as he scrutinized her. "I can just tell these kinds of things. Can't you?" he asked Machiavelli. The tactician shook his head just slightly. "I can sense it to some extent," he told the Kid smoothly. "But you see it more clearly?" Billy nodded, looking surprised.

Scathach had stood up. "You're immortal?" she said in disbelief. "You never said anything about that."

"Who- did it to you?" Machiavelli added.

"Minerva, goddess of wisdom," she revealed reluctantly. "I helped to rebuild her shadow realm."

"When did this happen?" Scatty asked sharply.

"Three years ago."

Machiavelli could see several emotions flit across the Shadow's face, not the least of which was anger. It occurred to him that Scatty really did care for the young woman sitting with them and that she perceived the changes in Sophie as a sort of affront. "Have you told the Flamels this?"

"No. I haven't been in contact with any of you in the time I've been out there."

The Italian was surprised by the buzzing of his phone- he had forgotten they had been living in a relatively normal world, so strange was this afternoon's discussion. He pulled it out- it was Jill. Sighing, he silenced the phone and put it back in his pocket.

They were all quiet, Sophie looking at them wearily.

Machiavelli was the first one to speak. "Well, you don't have to go back to your search right away. Thanksgiving is in little more than a week- why don't you stay with us? We can make room," he added, looking to Billy for confirmation.

The American immortal nodded. "Of course. You should stay with us honey. Give your body some time to rest."

"I- I can't stay here…"

"Of course you can," Billy said briskly. "You can bunk with Scatty. We're a bit short up on beds right now. But I don't want you out there on your own. It's getting colder every day, you know," he pointed out gently.

She faltered. "I suppose."

"Good. Now you should let Scatty actually take a look at you, cause I'm guessing you're injured in other ways than just what we can see."

"Yeah, I can heal anything broken," the Shadow agreed, motioning her to follow her upstairs.

"Well, that's settled. I just realized, Mac," Billy said, standing up. "Nicholas and Perenelle will be hear in two days and we don't have a bed for them. We can't rightly put them on that futon."

"Because the futon's the worst thing ever?"

Billy swatted him on the ass. "I still love that futon," he said firmly, and with a dignity most unbefitting for the occasion. "But I can't share a bedroom with the Flamels."

"That would really cut into our sexy time," Machiavelli joked, feeling very confident suddenly. "Okay, we'll have to go out and find something, I suppose."

Billy snorted. "We're going out," he yelled up the stairs. "Cut into our sexy time, honestly…"

"I assume before our latest addition showed up, you were planning on putting the Flamels in your old bedroom and pulling Scatty back into our enclave?" The Kid nodded, getting into his car. "Yeah, well we have to tap the brakes on that one. Sophie might be older, but I'd feel perverted sleeping in a room with her, even if there are two other people. She could have been my daughter in another universe…"

"She does make me feel older," Billy agreed. "And that doesn't happen very often." He laughed a little, smiling sweetly at the other immortal.

"So where are we going?" Machiavelli asked, trying to squash the feeling inside of him.

"We should just suck it up and get a new mattress for the Flamels. We can put it up in the study- I think they'll like that room. And after they go… we'll find a spot for it. I don't want to permanently turn my study into a bedroom, but we can't ask them to sleep on an air mattress either- they're old."

"They're only a hundred years older than me," Niccolo reminded him.

"Yeah, but you're not old."

Machiavelli laughed. "You have a bias."

"Of course I do," Billy agreed, turning into a promising looking store. "I love you. Sue me." He laughed nervously. Parking the car, he ducked out of the car. "Okay, Mac, we need to get a mattress which can be delivered in two days, preferably less…"

"I'm sure it's possible, we just should have planned for these eventualities in advance," the Italian commented, following Billy into the store. He watched as Billy almost immediately hopped onto the bed nearest them, without even looking at the price tag. "Comfortable?"

"Incredibly."

"You should be, this mattress costs nearly six thousand dollars… and that's the sale price."

"I don't love the Flamels that much," Billy said, rolling off of it. "Let's try… this one." He flopped face down. "Mac?" he called, his voice muffled. "Aren't you going to join me?"

"No. I don't like lying down in strange places."

Billy rolled over, crossing one booted leg over the other. "This isn't a strange place. This is Mattress World. It's practically our second home, these days." He patted the bed beside him. "Lie down, Mac."

"No."

"You'll regret not doing it."

"Somehow I disagree."

"First mattress together?" They were interrupted by a portly older gentleman who clearly thought they were a couple. Machiavelli blushed; he opened his mouth to say otherwise. Again, Billy beat him to it though.

"Yeah, we're moving in together," the outlaw said with a smile. "Just trying to get him to lie down with me."

"I'm not going to- no, Billy-," Machiavelli protested, but the salesman gave them a knowing wink and he found himself lying beside the American immortal, apologizing about his wet shoes. The man- he introduced himself as John- waved him off, showing them how they could adjust the bed to different settings. Apparently, John wouldn't have cared if they had presented as strict Satanists, so long as he could sell them a mattress.

When their enthusiastic salesman finally went to the back of the room to get a form for the mattress they chose, Machiavelli hissed in Billy's ear, "Why do you keep telling every person we meet that we're a couple?"

"It's a lot of fun, Mac. The more you protest, the more they believe we are a couple. And, besides," he said, puffing out his chest, "we're in a place of great privilege where we can't get hurt by homophobia. The least we can do is advocate for gay rights."

"By pretending to be gay ourselves?"

"Why, do you think homosexuality is wrong?" Billy asked quietly, joking but also not joking.

"Of course not, it's just that everyone within five miles of our apartment now thinks that I'm schtupping you."

"That's not true. I might be schtupping you."

"Oh, please, I'm clearly the top in this relationship," Machiavelli hissed.

They heard a delicate coughing noise. Looking up, they found that John had come back. Turning a lovely shade of red (at least that's what Billy would later describe to him), Machiavelli wished then and there that he be struck down by a bolt of lightning. No such luck. "I pulled some strings and we can have it at your apartment tomorrow," he told them brightly.

"That's awfully kind of you," Billy told him happily, shaking his hand. "We need it as soon as possible, you see." With another knowing smile, they were rung up.

Machiavelli waited to speak until the exact moment they crossed the threshold of the store and began wending their way to the car. "You have no shame, clearly."

"Nah, none."

"You deliberately led him on."

"He thinks I have great taste. In mattresses and otherwise."

"Oh my, Billy…"

"I'm sorry Mac-a-whack, I just can't help myself. And you've got to admit, that was fun."


	61. Chapter 61

Sophie was definitely weary of him; Machiavelli could tell it. He couldn't really blame her- he'd been actively working against her over the summer. Billy, she was less suspicious of, and Scatty, Scatty she seemed to genuinely like. He wanted to apologize to her, but he had the feeling that she was avoiding him in particular and he let her have her space. She wasn't going to trust him without a reason to do so, or at least a history of him respecting her.

He'd been reading upstairs in the study all the next day, but it was getting late now and he wanted to see the others. He felt restless from being inside all day and part of him ached to get out and about, just to be somewhere else. Closing his book, he wondered what the chances were that they could eat out.

 _They must all be downstairs,_ he thought, finding both the bedrooms dark and empty. He grabbed Billy's sweater, intending to bring it to the American. Hearing voices, he paused where he was.

"Was Machiavelli really three years old at the beginning of the summer?" he heard Sophie ask Billy. He couldn't help himself- he liked hearing Billy talk about him. He hovered in the hall, wanting to hear the Kid's response.

"He was. He was so cute," Billy said instantly, and he smiled a little. "He was like this big…" Machiavelli couldn't see what the American immortal was doing, but he imagined from experience that Billy was over exaggerating how small he'd been again. "He was the sweetest little boy- you wouldn't believe…"

"Was he still there- mentally? Like, was he actually a child?"

"No… a little of both, I guess," Billy pondered out loud. "His mind was always there, but especially when he was little, there were times where he'd be less of his adult self and more of whatever age he was at, at that current time. It kind of waxed and waned with the time of the day."

"So, why were you the one that had to take care of him?" Machiavelli wondered if anyone else heard the accusatory tone in her voice.

There was a slight pause before Billy answered. "I wasn't the one that had to take care of him, I wanted to. And I wouldn't let anyone else take him from me."

"Yeah, but don't you think…"

Billy interrupted her. "I owed it to Mac, to take care of him. He saved me from dying. He takes care of me in his own way.

"But you really trust him? I could understand when he was in his child's body, but now he's got his aura back, doesn't he? How do you know he's on the right side?"

"Of course he's on my side."

"It's just that manipulation is his strong suit, isn't it?" She cleared her throat, cutting Billy off, because the American immortal had been about to say something. "I'm just saying, how do you know that he's not fooling all of you?"

"Well, if you're going to tar him with that brush, you'd have to do the same to me," Billy protested and Machiavelli was slightly gratified to hear a tone of anger laced underneath his normally reasonable tone. He was tired of being held to the mistakes he'd made in the past- hadn't his actions on Alcatraz proven that he was a better man than he had been?

Scatty spoke up for the first time. "Sophie, I didn't like Niccolo either when we met this summer, but if I trust him now, I think you can too. Give him a chance."

"Hm, maybe."

"Mac's the best guy I know," Billy told her and Machiavelli felt his heart swell. At that particular moment, the Italian immortal didn't care what Sophie said next; he felt like he was going to burst from happiness.

"You're such a funny pair, you know that don't you? You're completely different," she said softly, Machiavelli straining to hear her voice from where he was hidden. He slipped down so that he was sitting on the steps, wanting to know what the outlaw was going to say.

"Mac and I are good friends for each other, I think," Billy countered, not aggressively, but insistently. "He's smarter than me, but I remind him that he needs to have fun."

Machiavelli got up, realizing too late that someone was coming out of the living room. The Shadow gave him an arch smile, which he returned shyly. Scatty sat down beside him. "Here you are," she said softly.

"I can't help it," he told her. "I yearn for information."

"I know that."

"Do you need to go upstairs?"

"I was just looking for you. Are you getting hungry?"

He nodded. "And a bit lonesome, I think…"

"Why've you been hiding upstairs all day?" she asked, sitting beside him.

"Don't get the feeling that she likes me very much," he mumbled. "Hers is probably the first appropriate response I've gotten since this whole thing started, you know. I still am not sure why you and the others forgave me so quickly."

"Who could stay mad at you when you were so sweet looking?"

He half smiled. "So, if I had stayed my adult, curmudgeon-y self, it would have been much harder for you to come to like me?"

"Don't know- perhaps. I'm a stubborn person after all. I was prepared to dislike you even when you were cute." She crossed and uncrossed her legs. "Why don't you come downstairs? She can't come to like you if she doesn't know you."

"Sure," he agreed. He offered her a hand up, but she was already pulling herself to her feet on her own. "Are you hungry?"

"I'm never really hungry," she told him, slipping her arm around his.

"Hmm, well would you come out with us if we went somewhere?"

"Where are we going?"

"Wherever you want," he promised. He rapped his knuckles against the frame of the doorway before entering the living room, feeling a bit silly. "Hey," he said, his eyes meeting Billy's before they saw anyone else. "I was getting a bit hungry upstairs."

"We were just talking about you," Billy told him, getting up. He stretched, his joints popping down the line.

"All good things, I'm sure," Machiavelli quipped.

"Oh, of course, Mac." Billy grinned at him. "I don't have a bad thing to say about you in my vocabulary." Behind them, the tactician could feel the newest immortal in the room stare a little at them, but he didn't pay it much mind. He gave the Kid a tiny grin. "What are we having for dinner? Do we even have food? I feel like it's been a while since we went grocery shopping…"

"I'd like to go out to eat, if you don't mind," he said instead to the room at large.

"Sure, I have a new place I'd like to try." Billy held his leather jacket open for Sophie, who put it on hesitantly. "We should really get you a good winter coat," he told her kindly. "You'll freeze to death otherwise."

"I thought the point was that I couldn't freeze to death," she said smoothly.

He waved his hand. "Semantics. You'll still be unnecessarily cold and that's unpleasant. Why put up with unpleasantness if you don't have to?" He hung back, the two female immortals moving towards the car. Lightly, he touched Machiavelli's hand. "Mac, I haven't forgotten my promise from earlier. But I wonder if I could have a day more just to consider my options?"

"I suppose if you think it will help, William."

"I think it will. I've been thinking about things a lot, you know."

"Well, alright. But just one more day. No longer. I don't like things being so awkward between us."

"Deal."

~MB~

"I'm excited that the Flamels are going to be here," Billy told the Italian, bouncing on his feet a little.

"Yes, I'm glad to see them too, but you seem extra happy."

"Well, I have a surprise for you," the Kid said, bumping shoulders with his tall companion. "I almost told you last night at dinner, but I've been trying really hard to keep it to myself, and I think we're going to make it this time. No secrets give away." He nodded as if assuring himself.

"What's my surprise?"

The outlaw scoffed. "Mac, it's hardly a surprise if I tell you before it happens, now isn't it?"

"But you could give me a hint," Machiavelli wheedled. Billy just shook his head, his eyes shining brightly, live coals glimmering in a fire. "Well, I'm glad you're so happy today. I think you're the happiest person in here."

Billy glanced around the airport. "I have a good life," he said cheerfully. "And enough experience to say that being able to wait in an airport for someone you know and love is a priceless blessing…"

Machiavelli felt like his breath caught in his throat sometimes, listening to the outlaw. "There they are," he pointed out, recognizing the casual elegance of Perenelle from the minute she stepped off of the plane. "No sign of your surprise though…"

"Oh, Billy, cher," she said, rapidly making her way over to them. People separated unconsciously to let her by. Billy looked surprised, but pleased, when she hugged him. A moment's decision was all that separated them before he threw his arms around her.

Nicholas appeared next to Niccolo, his hands in his pocket. "Bonjour," he said wryly.

"Bonjour. Comment vas-tu?" Machiavelli murmured.

"Achy," the Frenchman complained lightly. "We saved some money by buying commercial. Never again, my friend." Seeing that his wife had released Billy, the Alchemyst stepped forward, kissing Billy's cheek.

"You've grown a lot since we last saw you," Perenelle said, also embracing Machiavelli.

"Ah, yes, I'm finally back to my full height," he commented, following her over to the baggage claim. "Oh, Billy…" He stopped where he was.

"I asked them to bring the pets," Billy told him excitedly, grabbing his hand and dragging him over to where their cat and dog were crated. "Our babies, Mac! See, I figured," he explained, fixing Machiavelli's collar, "that the Flamels couldn't leave them alone for the two weeks or so that they are visiting us so they might as well come along. We're going to keep Georgette in our apartment and the Flamels will bring the Pup back to Montana after our visit, cause he really deserves to live out in a wide open space…" He knelt down in front of the cages, poking fingers through the slots. "I missed you," he said keenly.

Machiavelli rested a hand on Billy's back, using the outlaw to stabilize himself as he leaned over to look at the animals. "Hello, tesora," he said to the feline. "You look a little scared, honey."

"Isn't it great, Mac?'

"It is. You did good, William."

Getting everyone into the car was a little more difficult than Machiavelli had planned and, privately, he thought that Billy should have foreseen this difficulty beforehand. Perenelle, they let have the front passenger seat, while Machiavelli and Nicholas were jammed together in the back, a tiny cat carrier balanced on the Italian's knees and the husky curled in the Frenchman's lap. The Pup's case had been tied to the top of the car, while two suitcases (one of clothing and one filled with books) had been jammed in their trunk.

Billy seemed blissfully indifferent to the pandemonium unfolding around him. He chatted incessantly with the Flamels about Sophie and the recent developments they'd just become aware of. Both Flamels were shocked to hear that she'd become an immortal.

Machiavelli sensed that Nicholas at least, like him, was rather uncomfortable when it came to the youngest female immortal. While Perenelle and Billy discussed at some length the necessary precautions she would have to take in re-entering the shadow realm, Machiavelli and Nicholas exchange a silent half glance. Niccolo was a little relieved to find someone just as mistrusted by the female as he was; he could deal with having to earn back her trust, but it was nice not to be the sole pariah of the house again.

"Oh, by the way, Perry," Billy said with forced casualness in his voice. "Do you still want to go looking for my mother?"

"Of course Billy. Sophie was always a very determined girl," she said, glancing back at her husband to gauge his reaction. "It's not likely that we'll be able to hold her, if she wants to leave again. Nicholas is going to offer his help though, if she'll allow it."

"We're partly responsible for what happened with the twins," he agreed from the backseat. "Even if it was fated all along, we could have done things differently… So I'll go with Sophie and you can go with Perenelle."

"Niccolo's coming too, aren't you?" Billy asked, craning back to look at him.

"Of course, but keep your eyes on the road, will you?" Machiavelli said, motioning forward.

"Good, cause I need you there. I really do. But Perenelle, are you really sure you want to waste your time like this?" Billy asked anxiously, glancing at the older Frenchwoman. "Cause Mac and I were talking and there's a good chance that we won't find my momma there. Which means we'll have driven eight hours both ways, for nothing."

"Billy, cher, if there's a chance that she's there- any chance at all- it's worth it," she assured him.

Machiavelli, however, thought he understood what Billy was doing- he was trying to deliberately set his expectations low so that he wouldn't be disappointed. He knew why Billy would want to take this precaution. Having lost all of his loved ones, it would be painful to think that he might make contact with them again, only to find that it wasn't possible in the end.

"Here's our street," Billy said finally, turning onto the tree lined Rittenhouse Square. "We'll just park and then you'll be in."

"That's it there," Machiavelli pointed out to Nicholas, indicating the brownstone with its brickwork and black shuttered windows.

"It's nice," Nicholas commented. "Billy does have good taste sometimes, now doesn't he?" he teased, patting the outlaw's shoulder.

"I have impeccable taste," the Kid crowed, puffing out his chest a little. "Here, we are," he added, parking the car expertly. "We'll come up from the basement, we can reach the stairs through the kitchen… Ah, here's Scatty!"

"Nick," she said, dropping the carrot she'd been peeling.

"Oopfh," he groaned a little, staggering as she tackled him. Taking a few steps back, he laughed, giving her a kiss. "You must have missed me- you're not usually this affectionate."

"I've spent the last two months living with these two," she said indicating the outlaw and the tactician. "Touchy and Feely."

"I'm Touchy," Billy told Nicholas brightly. He laughed at his own pun. "I'm glad you're making dinner, Scatty, I feel like my stomach is dissolving as we speak… Want to see your room? We had to put you in the study cause we don't actually have that many bedrooms here…"

Machiavelli listened to the Kid ramble on about the house. He could hear Sophie's voice join Billy's, the conversation animated but unintelligible from where he stood with the Shadow. "Need help making dinner?" he asked her, wanting to be useful.

"That would be nice." She gave him a bowl of chicken to brown up. "I feel like we haven't had a chance to talk since Sophie got here. How are things with you and the Kid?"

"Okay… we get along well, but there's something strange up about him lately, have you noticed that?" He looked at her, wanting to gauge her reaction, but she ducked into the cupboard, perhaps looking for something for the soup they were making, perhaps blocking him from observing her. "He's pretty happy today, but the last couple of days, he's been… off. Do you know why Billy's acting funny?"

"Yes."

"Can you tell me?"

"No."

"Ah, I guess that's fair," he sighed. "Hmm…" He turned over the chicken in the pan, revealing a golden brown side. "Ow, why'd you hit me?"

"You're not supposed to just give up, you're supposed to be grilling me for details. There might be something I can answer."

"But you can't tell me which questions to ask?" he said, rubbing his arm. "Or better yet, just tell me the answers without the questions?"

"No."

"Okay, so this is like that horrible twenty questions game I've heard of…" He squinted. "Does it have to do with me?"

"Obviously."

He frowned. "I've done something wrong?" She shook her head. "But he's worried about me?"

"He's worried… about you."

Machiavelli tore the bag of spinach open with more force than was necessary. Leaves exploded all over the counter top and he scrambled to pick them up. "What on earth does that even mean?"

"He's not worried about you like he thinks you're going to get in trouble. He's worried… about what you might think of him if he tells you what he's thinking about."

"Oh. But then, why did he agree to tell me what he's been thinking about then?"

"Has he?" She tilted her head. "Maybe that means he'll actually let you know how he's feeling."

"Will I be upset by what he tells me?"

"No, definitely not."

He looked up in surprise. "Well, if it's not something that's going to upset me, why doesn't he want to talk to me?"

"He doesn't know it won't upset you."

Niccolo groaned. "This is crazy. You can't tell me anything?" She shook her head, pointing out the vow she'd taken with the other American immortal again. "Okay, here's a different question. Do the Flamels know how I feel about him?"

"No, I haven't told anybody."

Machiavelli felt relieved. With no foreseeable hope of winning Billy over, he imagined he must look quite ridiculous, chasing after a man who was hundreds of years younger than himself.

They both went quiet hearing footsteps. Billy thundered down the stairs, grinning wildly. "I love a full house," he said, wrapping his arms around Scatty. "Do you need help making dinner?"

"We're almost done, kid. Why don't you count out some silverware? There's- what? Six of us tonight?"

"I can do that," he agreed immediately. "Hey, Mac, guess what? Perenelle wants to start looking for my mother this week," Billy told the Italian immortal, not giving him any time to make any guesses. "Two days from now, I think she said."

Machiavelli straightened his tie unconsciously. "That's nice."

"And you are going to come with me when we start looking for my mother, aren't you? You meant it, when you said you'd come, right?" the Kid asked anxiously. "Cause I want you with me."

"Of course I will."

"Good. I thought maybe you wouldn't cause of your date…"

Machiavelli looked over in surprise. "I don't know when I'm going to meet up with Jill at this point, but you come first. And you said you'd come with me, remember?"

"That's true, I did."

Machiavelli took down six plates. "You keep your promise and I keep mine. And we both will love Scatty in the mean time."

"Of course. Scatty's the best," Billy agreed right away. He grinned at her. She sighed and looked over at Machiavelli, who kissed her on the temple. "You love us," the Kid told her enticingly. She shook her head, but finally smiled. "I knew it," he crowed. He hurtled upstairs with the silverware jangling.

"Is it painful, loving him?"

"Yes."


	62. Chapter 62

If Machiavelli thought that Sophie distrusted him, it was nothing to how she treated Nicholas Flamel. He privately thought that this was rather unfair; as they had all found out, they were each fated to fulfill the role set out for them long before they were born and the Alchemyst was merely the unfortunate messenger through all of this. Still, he wasn't prepared to interfere on Nick's behalf- Nick was an adult and would sort it out in his own time.

Scatty, on the other hand, was not prepared to sit idly by and let the tension diffuse on its own. Her fondness for the silver auraed immortal was not enough to outdo her affection for the older French immortal, it would seem, and so it seemed inevitable that on the second night they were all together, the tension bubbled into actual conversation, headed chiefly by the Shadow.

"We're not really necessary here," Billy whispered to the tactician, shrinking away from the conversation unfolding around them. "Grab your jacket. I'll call Black Hawk and he can pick us up."

Hearing the voices begin to amplify in the dining room, they decided to wait for the Native American immortal on their front steps. Machiavelli wasn't even sure if any of them noticed Billy trying to tell them where they were going, but with half a shrug the outlaw led both of them out the door.

"It's fricking cold out here," he complained to Machiavelli, turning up the collars of his coat to block out more of the wind. "You know what I don't understand? Smokers," he continued immediately. "It's a stupid habit in the best of times, but when it's ten degrees out and you have to go outside? No thanks."

"I wonder how smoking would affect us immortals?" the tactician mused, agreeing with Billy, though his thoughts were mainly on how cold it was out on their stoop. He got to his feet, the cold of the stone steps being too much for him. Stamping his feet, he paced in front of the American immortal, mostly to keep feeling in his feet. "We wouldn't necessarily get lung cancer- most major ailments we can deflect after all- but we'd get some of the other side effects I suppose, the yellowing of our teeth, the coughing, and so on…"

"What do you think they're talking about in there?"

"Don't know… kind of wish we had stayed inside though," Machiavelli mused, glancing behind him. "Then we would have known… and been warm…" But he came and sat beside Billy on the top step.

"Sorry," Billy apologized hastily. "I just get nervous when people fight. I panicked."

"Well, I'm sure Scatty will inform us on what we missed. And I'll thaw too, eventually…"

"Want to put my jacket on over yours?" Billy offered, starting to slip his off.

Machiavelli stopped him. "Of course not, you'll freeze."

"I'm always warmer than you are," the Kid said cheerfully. He draped an arm around the Italian's shoulder. "I talked to Black Hawk. He should be by, any second now. Don't you worry, we'll warm you up again in a jiffy."

"Am I a bad person for being glad that Sophie dislikes Nick even more than me?" Machiavelli asked, gazing at the hotel down the block. Rooms flashed at different colors depending on what their occupants were doing; he could tell that there were a lot of people watching television by the faint bluish glow it gave the room, for instance.

Billy looked down the street after him. "Nah, I don't think so. I mean, yes, kind of, Mac," he said comfortably, laughing a little. "But no worse than the rest of us. It's not very pleasant being disliked by anyone."

"I heard her saying that we were an odd pair, the other day," Machiavelli admitted.

"We're not an odd pair. We're an excellent pair. I've never had a better friend."

Machiavelli glanced at him quickly. "You can't mean that."

"Why not?"

"Because you've had many friends in your life time. You knew them longer."

"I've loved many of my friends and that doesn't mean a damn thing," the Kid said quietly. "There's never been anyone who makes me want to be better than I am, the way you do. And I share more with you than I can with others. Black Hawk, for instance. He's my best friend, but I don't- don't," he fumbled for the word. "I can't share with him, the things I share with you."

"You know that we forgot to talk last night," Machiavelli said to Billy.

The Kid ducked his head. "We were having fun and I figured it didn't really matter that much. I can't believe you beat Perenelle at Scrabble…Not that I don't think you're good at Scrabble, it's just that they own a fucking bookstore and well, English isn't your first language…"

"You're just trying to change the subject now that your week has run out…"

"Would I do that?"

"Yes, you would."

"Oh, well, maybe I would. But there's Black Hawk," Billy said, pointing unnecessarily as the moss green vehicle skidded into view and pulled up on the curb in front of their apartment; Machiavelli very unwillingly dropped the subject. Ever since he'd talked to Scatty, his curiosity had increased manifold and he trusted her when she said he'd be happy with what the American immortal had to say. Waiting was driving him nuts.

Black Hawk watched them as they came down the steps. He opened the passenger door, ducking through the jeep, and waited, glancing at the road occasionally. "Hey," Billy said, climbing into the backseat automatically. He pulled the seat back so that Machiavelli could get in.

"Hey," Black Hawk said back, revving the engine a little. "So you seriously got kicked out of your own house?"

"We didn't get kicked out per se," the Kid disagreed. "I just offered them the privacy of having the entire house."

"So you got kicked out?"

Machiavelli interrupted their bickering. "So where are we going?"

"Glad you asked chief," Black Hawk said, flashing his teeth in the Italian's direction. "We're going to finally go out like you suggested. A night on the town." In the backseat, Billy groaned audibly. Black Hawk waved his hand at the outlaw. "What's wrong with you, old man?"

"I don't want to go a bar tonight. Can't we catch a movie or go bowling or just stop at a diner or something?"

"Nope."

"Aw, come on. I accommodate you all the time."

"I like bowling," Machiavelli interjected, hoping to help the outlaw.

Black Hawk braked much too late; they were all thrown forward a little and behind them a man beeped his horn angrily. The Native American flipped him off and kept going. "You can bowl? Do you go in a three-piece suit?"

"We've had this conversation before, I told you this. It's like bocci ball."

"I recall no such conversation."

"I think you were telling me that," Billy piped up from the back seat. He turned to Black Hawk, leaning forward. "So we're going bowling," he asked hopefully.

"Sure. After we go to a bar."

"What? No, come on Black Hawk, please."

Even Machiavelli's interest was piqued by Billy's desperate pleas against Black Hawk's set plans. He felt that the American immortal was going about it the wrong way- the Native American was only going to be more adamant with his continued non-compliance, but Billy always seemed to operate from the wrongful assumption that people would do what you wanted if you were just honest about how it made you feel.

"How long do we have to be at this bar, exactly?" he asked, hoping to find a suitable compromise.

"How about, until one of you gets a lady?"

"Oh, absolutely not, no. How much time do we have to spend in the bar?" Machiavelli interjected.

"Not very confident tonight, are you?"

"I do not want to constantly pick up women. I'm still a married man and I made a vow to- you're not even listening to me, are you?" They'd pulled up to a bar called Rumors and Black Hawk made to get out, when Billy pulled him back by the scruff of his neck. They wrestled over the seat, Machiavelli leaning as far away as he could.

"Alright, listen to me," Billy squeaked, being held in a massive chokehold by the larger man. "I'm staying here one hour and then you better be ready to go cause otherwise I'm walking home." He was released from the other man's hold, falling roughly against the seat. "Psycho," he shot at Black Hawk, cursing and muttering vague threats as he got out of the car behind Machiavelli.

"I agreed to your one hour rule, calm down."

"It'll be okay, Billy," Machiavelli murmured, reaching out to fix the outlaw's shirt.

Billy was still fuming when they were let into the club and Machiavelli was beginning to wonder if that was the Kid's plan all along- to get thrown out by some cautious bouncer. Inside, the outlaw stalked off to a dark corner. "I'll go with him. You probably shouldn't come over for at least fifteen minutes," Machiavelli told the other man who shrugged and disappeared in the other direction.

He came to sit beside the outlaw, who'd already ordered a drink and was now moodily staring into it. All at once, he downed it, pulling a face. "He always has to have his way," Billy said angrily.

"Yes, but we knew that beforehand." Machiavelli flagged down a waitress and ordered two beers. "I didn't want to come either, but we appease Black Hawk and then we get to go bowling. Don't you want to see me bowl?"

Billy almost smiled but didn't at the last minute. "I just think it's ridiculous that we came here when both of us didn't want to," he argued, indicating the two of them.

"Ah, well. I think Black Hawk wants to have fun with his friends at a bar. I'm not sure moving in with Billie was everything he hoped for."

"It's not my fault he keeps making the same stupid mistake." He took a swig from his beer and coughed. "Damn it! And it'd be one thing if he wanted to just hang out, but he's trying to bully both of us into picking up some girl, you know that don't you?"

"Of course, I do. I'm not deaf or dumb, William."

Billy deflated. "Sorry, that's not what I meant."

"I know that. Anyways, I'm just saying that Black Hawk's life isn't going exactly as he planned either. And he's your best friend so try to cut him some slacks."

"Slack, Mac."

"Just seeing if you were paying attention," Machiavelli said smoothly, happy that Billy's anger was beginning to ebb away. He wasn't sure why the Kid's anger had sparked so suddenly; Black Hawk really wasn't acting at all differently from every other interaction he'd had with the Native American.

Billy still seemed to be thinking about something, but when he spoke, he just said, "You know, you do have a pretty good grasp on English idioms considering it isn't your first language." And Machiavelli was sure that wasn't what was on the Kid's mind at all.

"Thank you. I thought I did pretty well learning English, considering it was my fifth language…" Leaning on his hand, he raised his eyebrows at the outlaw, who looked at him and snorted.

"I bet I can guess the first four… Hm, well Italian, obviously. Then- Spanish?"

"I learned French before Spanish, actually."

"Okay. And the fourth… German?"

"My German is only passable," Machiavelli confessed. "And I learned German after English."

"Okay, not German." Billy tapped his fingers on the table. "I can't imagine. Russian?" Machiavelli laughed. "Swahili? Pig Latin?"

"You guessed pig Latin before actual Latin?"

"I forgot about actual Latin," Billy confessed. Machiavelli laughed.

"Well, Latin is actually the second language I learned- my father insisted. So it goes Italian, Latin, French, Spanish, English, then German, and very little Russian. No Swahili yet, I'm afraid."

"Do you think I overreacted with Black Hawk?"

Machiavelli shrugged. "He should take your feelings more into account."

"He never does."

The Italian didn't want Billy too angry at his best friend. This close to Thanksgiving, he was afraid that one or both of them would say something they regretted. "He takes your feelings into account when it really counts, it's just that he can be kind of a jerk when he thinks it doesn't matter. You have to talk to him."

"I don't want to talk to him right now," Billy said moodily, looking out into the smoky darkness.

"Ah, well that's unfortunate."

"Why?"

"Cause I just waved him over." Billy gave the Italian immortal an almost reproachful look, but sighed.

"What have you been doing?" he asked Black Hawk, still sounding very grumpy. "You haven't been trying to find women for us, have you?"

"No, of course not."

Billy perked up. "You really haven't?"

"Nah, I'm not that indifferent to what you say." Black Hawk eased his bulk into the booth beside Machiavelli, trapping the Italian between the two hot headed American immortals. Billy visibly relaxed; on his other side, Machiavelli noticed a confused look pass over the other immortal's face. "So what are we going to do?"

Billy sat up in his seat. "There's a pool table open," he said, sliding out of the seat and ducking across the room before they even knew what was happening.

"Guess we're playing pool," Black Hawk mumbled. "Hey," he added, grabbing Machiavelli by the shoulder. "What's up with him?"

"I can't really say for sure. He's been acting funny all week." On the pretense of ordering another round of drinks, they stopped by the bar. Black Hawk held up three fingers to the bartender before opening his wallet.

"He was actually angry. I haven't seen him angry in a while," the bulky man said.

Machiavelli was silent. He wasn't going to be the one to tell Black Hawk that he needed to start listening to his friend more. There wasn't that level of history between them wasn't there. "Maybe you should ask him about it some time?" he offered instead.

When they came over to the pool table, Billy had already started. He collected up the balls from the pockets again, fitting them into the triangle. "When's the last time you played, Mac?"

"I've never played pool," Machiavelli confessed. "I could just watch."

"Nah, no way. We'll teach you," Black Hawk told him, taking a stick off the rack. "I'll be on my own team- you go with Billy."

"You're right handed, aren't you?" Billy asked, handing Machiavelli a stick. "Here, stand like this. And you put your hands here." Putting a hand on the Italian's side, he maneuvered the other immortal into place. "Okay, now you draw back like this to give it some power."

Machiavelli was finding it very hard to concentrate with Billy standing this close behind him. He nearly scratched the felt of the table, apologizing profusely. He stepped away, not wanting to do something stupid in front of the outlaw.

Billy blinked. It was like he had just realized how close they were standing. Machiavelli couldn't tell what was going through his head, but Billy gave him a little apologetic smile. "Sorry. But anyways, try to hit the cue ball," he suggested, rolling the white ball over.

Black Hawk was watching them. Machiavelli sighed a little. He didn't like to make a fool of himself in front of the Native American… He hit the cue ball, but it had little power behind it- the ball went forward a foot and tapered to a halt.

"Try putting your weight more on this foot," Black Hawk suggested, finally coming around to stand with them.

"And use these fingers to steady your shot," Billy added, leaning over the table to pluck up the white ball once more. He set it down in front of the Italian immortal. "Okay, try again," he said, laying a hand on Machiavelli's shoulder. "You'll do fine."

"You went farther this time," Black Hawk agreed, leaning on the table. He cocked an eyebrow at Billy. "Want to start?"

"Sure. You'll pick it up as we go," the Kid assured Machiavelli. Rolling the cue ball onto the tiny circle of metal, he waited for Black Hawk to take the triangle off the balls on the other end. Machiavelli was a bit confused to see the American immortal holding the pool stick the opposite way from how he'd shown him just minutes before, but Billy seemed comfortable the way he was.

Billy broke, causing the balls to spin dizzily away from the center of the table. Two balls went in- a stripe and a solid. "We'll be solids," he told Black Hawk, taking aim again. "You keep shooting until you miss," he told Machiavelli. "Let's play easy rules with him."

"Fine. So no penalties for scratching and no calling of the 8 ball…"

The outlaw got three balls in before missing. Black Hawk seemed almost disinterested, stepping forward to take his turn. He loftily took aim, getting two balls in with a single shot. Machiavelli made a face; they were both far out of his range.

"Okay, now, Mac," Billy said, dancing around to where the Italian stood, unsure where to aim. "How about you aim for the three?" he suggested, pointing it out to Machiavelli. "You're going to want to aim at it like this," he demonstrated, "and put a little oomph into it, okay? You can make this shot."

Machiavelli didn't even hit the cue ball this time; his stick swiped at the air to the right of the ball. He looked up at the Kid, but Billy gave him an encouraging smile and told him to try again. He just barely tapped the three ball this time, but Billy grabbed him by the shoulders shaking him with excitement.

"We should take pity on him," Black Hawk told Billy after their fifth game. Machiavelli had got two ball in altogether and was showing little improvement. Billy was unaffected, but his two best friends were starting to get beat. "Okay, big guy, show us your mad skills at bowling."

"It's literally been a couple hundred years, so don't get your hopes too high…"

"Nah, I think you're going to be great!" Billy chimed in, following them out.

Black Hawk snorted. "You're going to be the only guy there in a suit," he told the Italian, beginning to back out of the parking lot.

"Wherever we go, I'm always the only guy there in a suit," he said smoothly.

"What's the holdup?" Billy asked, sticking his head into the front of the jeep to look over Black Hawk's shoulder.

"The place Scatty and I went bowling at just closed fifteen minutes ago. That one's closed, that one's closed…" He scrolled through his screen. "It's past eleven… and it's a Monday night. We might have to postpone bowling…"

"That's alright. I'll try to live with the disappointment." Machiavelli swatted at Billy when he tried to change the radio station- they were in the middle of song he liked.

"We're near a street vendor though. I want to get a taco," Black Hawk decided.

"It's nearly midnight," Machiavelli protested.

"Perfect time for a taco. We won't be long."

Machiavelli was sure that they weren't going to find Black Hawk's street vendor, but sure enough, there was a taco stand which actually had a line of people waiting for it. "This is everything that's bad with America."

"This is everything that's good with America," Black Hawk told him, grinning. "I'll be back," he told them, parking the car. Billy nodded, coughing into his shoulder, then coughed again. He kept repeating this unproductive cough, obviously trying to stifle it and not succeeding.

"Are you alright, William?" Machiavelli asked, turning to look at him.

"Mm, just started coughing all of a sudden. Maybe it's the change in temperature?"

"Maybe. But it's been warm in here. Why don't you crack the window a bit?" Machiavelli suggested. "It's pretty stale in here." Billy reached through to do what he suggested and his coughing subsided. They sat in the car, neither of them talking. "Billy, you promised you'd tell me what was bothering you."

The Kid drummed his fingers nervously on the seat. "Can I have an extension?" he joked miserably.

"No. You already had one. Just tell me what's up."

"It's cold here," he said instead. Reaching forward, he closed the window again. "I'll talk to you, I swear. But… when we get home, where it's warm, okay?"

"No, tell me now," Machiavelli insisted. "Black Hawk might be out there for a bit, we can talk."

"Okay. Okay…" Billy licked his lips, looking nervous. He started to say something and then faltered. Machiavelli cocked his head, trying to make out the bits of words the American had just said, but Billy seemed to try a different approach. After some consideration, he said, "I think I'm in love with someone, but I don't think they love me back. And I would love to love them, you know?"

The Italian immortal felt his insides dissolve. It wasn't what he'd expected, but was instead what he had feared. He regretted pushing the Kid to speak; he would have liked the extra time of not knowing. "I do know," he agreed, feeling his head reel. And after a pause, "Is it someone I know?"

"Yes," the Kid whispered. "You know them pretty well."

 _Scatty?_ Machiavelli thought again, rather dizzily. He coughed slightly. "Who? No, you don't have to tell me, if you don't want to… But why don't you talk to that person? Have you?"

"No. Afraid they don't feel the same way," Billy mumbled. He changed the radio station, seeming to need something to do with his hands. Machiavelli let him this time. "Mac, have you ever been in love? Besides your wife, I mean?"

"Yes," he said softly. "I've been very much in love." A painful thought process was forming in his mind… He made a decision.

"And what happened?" Billy's eyes searched out his gray ones.

"Nothing. I didn't do anything about it. So they never knew." _Billy deserves someone who is good for him. That's not me, necessarily._ "You shouldn't make my mistake. Go after them."

"What if they don't love me back?"

"If they're really important to you, they'll love you no matter what. It might not be the way you want, but they'll always love you," he said kindly.

"Huh. Mac, I-," he started, but he was interrupted.

"Well, that's all settled. So you want to go anywhere else?" Black Hawk asked, getting in the car. "I think there's a bowling alley on the north end that's still open for a while…"

"Uh, you know what, Black Hawk, I think I'm feeling a bit tired all of a sudden," Machiavelli said quietly. "Would it be alright, if you just dropped me off at home?"

Black Hawk looked over at him, studying his face. "Yeah, you know what you don't look so good all of a sudden." He surprised the Italian immortal by touching his forehead, and rather gently at that. "Well, you don't have a fever, but if you're not feeling well… we'll call it a night." Moving around bulkily, he fastened his seat belt and turned on the car.

~MB~

"Billy…" Black Hawk called after him. The outlaw turned back, halfway up the steps. Black Hawk jerked his head over and Billy reluctantly came back down. They heard Machiavelli unlock the door and slip in. Shivering, the Kid got into the passenger seat. "I heard you talking to Machiavelli tonight- I could hear through the window, don't give me that look- you've got your eye on someone. That's why you didn't want to meet any girls tonight."

The Kid flushed. "It's not what you think."

Black Hawk half laughed. "You should have told me. We tell each other things like this."

Billy half hoped for a moment that Black Hawk knew the truth. It would make this disaster of a night even a little bit better. _Machiavelli looked so… sad, when I was talking to him._ "I messed up. I should have told…"

"It's Scatty, isn't it?" Black Hawk interrupted. "You're in love with her?" He drew his dark eyebrows together.

The outlaw felt a wave of disappointment flood through him. "Scatty's like my sister…" He swallowed, feeling like he was going to cry, and bit his tongue to gain some control. For a minute there, he'd been prepared to tell Black Hawk that he was in love with Niccolo. For a moment, he thought that Black Hawk had accepted immediately what he had denied in himself. But Black Hawk still thought that it was a girl… And that made sense, but he'd really been hoping there that he'd have his best friend to talk to.

He realized that Black Hawk was still talking to him. "What'd you say?" he asked, breaking in.

"I said that Machiavelli was worried about you. You've been acting funny all week, he says." Black Hawk patted his arm, turning the engine to the jeep back on. "This is good," he said, obviously finished with the conversation. "You have your lady- whoever she is- and Machiavelli's going out on his date eventually."

"I'd forgotten about that…"

"Ah well, good night, handsome. Good luck with your love troubles," he added, laughing. Billy didn't laugh slipping out of the passenger seat again. He waved before heading inside.


	63. Chapter 63

Billy woke early the next morning, before Machiavelli had stirred even. Getting out of bed, he pulled the blankets up more securely around the other man, still feeling awful about the way that last night had turned out. Though he knew it was wrong- misguided, in fact- part of him felt angry with the others, with Sophie for fighting, and Black Hawk for forcing him to go into that bar, and…

Mostly himself, he had to admit, dressing quickly in the monochrome light coming through the window. Looking in the mirror hanging from their closet door, he had to fight the urge to yell at his reflection. _How was he going to explain this to Machiavelli? It hadn't gone at all as he'd hoped…_

The Shadow was downstairs when he finally came down and, seeing her, the Kid made a beeline towards her. "Scatty, I think I messed up last night," Billy whispered, looking around to see if any of the others were around. Nobody else was up yet.

"I already heard about it," she said sharply.

He flinched, wilting away from her side. He tried to explain himself. "It seemed like a good idea at the time… I just wanted him to realize himself, to guess. I couldn't say it myself," he pleaded. "I wanted to! But… the conversation began to go a different direction and I couldn't get it back to the right spot before Black Hawk came… and now Machiavelli's not looking at me."

She took a deep breath of air, obviously trying to contain her frustration before she spoke. He waited, looking a little nervous. "Why? Why couldn't you just tell him that you- love- him?" she asked, punctuating each word with a jab to his chest.

"I was going to, I was really," he said hastily, watching her eyes flash. "But…"

"But what?"

"But it sounded so stupid in my head. I didn't think he could love someone like me, that way."

"I told him that he'd like to hear what you had to say because I honestly believed that it would make him happy and then you go and take the coward's route out of it," she hissed at him. She counted to ten, taking a few more breaths. "What did Niccolo say?" she asked at last.

"He said that I should go after the person I love," he said excitedly. Then he deflated a little. "He got really quiet though, after we talked. And then when I went to bed last night, he was already asleep and I didn't get to tell him… Do you think he guesses what I was going to say? And he's avoiding me because he doesn't want to hear it?"

"No," she said immediately. "I think that's the farthest thing from his mind, what you really meant, and you have no one to blame but yourself."

Feeling deeply ashamed, he hung his head a little. "I should go away and leave the two of you to deal with your own mess," Scatty told him fiercely, giving him such a look that he felt the back of his neck prickle.

"No, no, Scatty, honey, don't do that," he begged. "You can't leave us yet; we've got a serious problem."

"I'll say," she snarled. "You're both crazy."

He felt close to tears again; things were falling apart. She must have seen the stricken look on his face because she sighed and, stepping closer to him, wrapped her arms around his neck. "Billy, it's not the end of the world. You just need to find a way in again. We really should have discussed what you were going to say, I guess…"

"You forgot you were dealing with the biggest dummy this side of the Atlantic," he said into her shoulder.

"That's not true," she murmured, patting him awkwardly on the top of the head. "You're not that dumb. You just lost your head a little last night…"

"I just wanted to get a little reassurance before I said something completely out of left field," he mumbled. "I didn't think it would go so badly… Honestly…"

"Here's Niccolo," she said, listening to the soft steps coming downstairs. "Hey, Niccolo, sleep well?" she asked.

 _He looks tired,_ Billy thought to himself. Machiavelli sat on Billy's other side. "Okay," he agreed, his voice a bit hoarse. The Italian immortal reached for the toast in the middle of the table.

"Any plans for today?" she asked him.

"I called up Jillian this morning. I rescheduled our dinner for tonight."

"Did you still want me to come with you?" Billy asked timidly. He wasn't sure how Machiavelli would react.

The tactician looked up and making eye contact for the first time since last night, he smiled faintly. The Kid relaxed, feeling a warmth spread over him. "Of course, if you still want to come. Scatty, do you want to come too?"

"I think I'm going to try to get the Flamels to take me out somewhere tonight. Sophie too," she added.

Machiavelli lowered his voice significantly. "Where is our newest immortal?" he asked quietly.

"She's up with Nicholas in the study. Got up when I did. Showing him some tricks she's learned since we last saw her."

~MB~

Machiavelli thought he should make it up to Jill, his unexpected canceling of their plans from last week, but didn't really know Philadelphia enough to come up with a place on his own. It was Billy who somewhat reluctantly told him about a 'hidden' club in Center City, which had hosted a live jazz band and dance hall since the twenties. Billy went so far as to dig out his blazer and a button down shirt, but came down dressed in jeans and his cowboy boots too, as if clinging to some of his normal shlubbiness.

They went by Jill's house to pick her up, Billy driving; he waited, leaning against the car, when Machiavelli ran in to get her. Machiavelli could hear the Kid twirling his keys repeatedly; _'New nervous habit?_ ' he wondered, hunting through the listing of apartments for Jill's name and finally found it under 4C. He buzzed it.

Speaking of nervous… he could tell Jill was nervous about meeting Billy from the way she half stepped behind him when they came down the steps. "This is my friend Billy, Jill. Jill's the one who helped me out when Black Hawk brought me to that bar the other week," he added unnecessarily, introducing her to the outlaw.

"Not to be confused with the Jill who did everything she could to screw with him," she joked lightly and Machiavelli laughed a little, but Billy only dipped his head and moved around the car. Jill gave Machiavelli a nervous look; he looked after the American immortal in surprise. Billy was the last person he would ever expect to act unfriendly.

"I'll sit in the backseat, you can sit in the passenger side," he told her, touching her wrist before climbing into the back.

"Niccolo tells me you're an excellent piano player," she said to Billy, but more timidly than before.

"I'm not that great…"

"That's not true," Machiavelli interrupted. "You spent the whole summer playing for me."

"I'm nothing special," Billy insisted and they frowned at each other through the rear view mirror.

Jill gave a quick glance between the two of them, and seemed to reach her own conclusion. "Well, maybe you did talk him up too much," she said to Machiavelli, turning in her seat and laughing a little. "I'm beginning to doubt that lassoing story…"

"I assure you that was true," he told her smoothly.

They continued to banter while waiting for a table at the restaurant. Billy didn't add much to the conversation and Machiavelli was beginning to wonder why he'd agreed on coming if he was going to be such a limp noodle. Jill was trying hard to include the Kid in the conversation, but he wasn't making much of an effort himself to keep it going. Machiavelli was almost relieved when Billy got up to get a drink.

"So this is the guy that you're in love with?" she whispered, both of them watching Billy walk away.

"He is indeed. I'm not sure why he's acting so funny tonight, though. He's normally much friendlier," Machiavelli told her, frowning.

"Yeah, he doesn't seem to like me very much, does he?" she laughed, patting his arm. She didn't seem to mind and Niccolo had the nagging suspicion that she knew something he didn't know, but he didn't know what that could be. He, after all, had known Billy for months now, where as she had just met him.

"But it's not you, it's got to be something else…"

"Perhaps he's just jealous of me because you have to split your attention," she suggested, looking out at the dance floor.

"No, something's been bothering him all week," Machiavelli argued vaguely. "And then last night… I'm sorry, do you want to dance? I should have asked you."

"It's okay, I don't really know how to dance. I always make a fool of myself." She smiled at him.

"That's always my argument too," he said distractedly. He shook his head, focusing on her. "How have things been? You know, there's still a lot I don't know about you, considering the fact that we've been seriously 'dating'." He mimed quotation marks around the last words.

She smiled. "Things are normal. The kids at the drop-in, they have their ups and down- I'm a homeless youth outreach worker, didn't I tell you that?" she explained, seeing his look of confusion. "Well, I avoided mentioning it at the birthday dinner, so that would explain it. My parents think that I've made a mistake," she explained, "in entering the social work field. It doesn't pay a lot and they believe that people who live in poverty are to blame themselves…"

"There are a lot of people in this country who seem to agree with that," he said, with a shake of his head.

"They're mostly the older people though," she said earnestly. "Younger generations tend to be more humane to those less fortunate- even young conservatives. And we have to focus on our youth. Nobody takes any efforts to ending youth homelessness right now because they are hidden- invisible, really- but our homeless youth today turn into our chronic homeless tomorrow."

"Chronic homeless are people who are out on the streets for a long time?"

She nodded, slipping into a jargon that was obviously very familiar to her. "Chronic homeless individuals are the ones most likely to die on the streets if they are not helped. I can't believe that some people are okay with anyone dying out there- it's so cold tonight."

They both looked up, hearing Billy coming back. "Did you get lost?" Machiavelli asked, touching the Kid's hand. He tried to sound joking, but he felt nervous somehow. "Why are your hands so cold?"

"I stepped outside for a minute," he said evasively. "What are you guys talking about?"

"Homelessness."

"Depressing topic," he said thickly.

Jill shrugged. "Homelessness is obviously very bad, but advocating for the homeless is actually very fulfilling. I feel like a warrior sometimes." She smiled at him. "You shouldn't go outside without your coat, you know. It's too cold, you'll get sick."

He managed a smile. He started to say something, but bit his tongue instead. Wanting to fill the sudden silence, Machiavelli told him, "Jill's an outreach work for homeless youth." Tugging on his hand, he pulled Billy down into the last chair at their table.

"Are there a lot of kids out there?" Billy asked gravely.

"Over two thousand in Philadelphia."

He coughed, choking on his drink. "What? That's terrible."

"Most are in emergency shelters, but there are some that we know are in their cars or abandoned buildings. And these numbers don't even count children who are what we call 'doubled up'- staying at someone else's house temporarily. Those kids aren't considered homeless because they have a place to stay at night, but these situations are hardly permanent- they're usually very tenuous at best."

Billy had a lot of questions- Machiavelli relaxed for the first time that night, feeling that the outlaw had gotten over his frostiness in the wake of his horror. The tactician himself felt a bit sick, listening to Jill talk about the difficulties and stigmas homeless individuals faced.

"Wait, so why don't they fund more programs targeting youth, then?" Billy asked, breaking into Machiavelli's train of thought.

"Youth numbers are always underreported. They don't want to be found because if they are, they are likely to be put in the foster system or get their parents in trouble with DCYF. Very few kids want that…"

"Huh," Billy said. Then, seeming to have heard too much to handle anymore, he asked, "Do you want to get up? We could dance," he suggested, looking to Machiavelli, perhaps for permission.

"Well, I don't know," she stuttered, but he was already on his feet.

Machiavelli tried to help her out. "She doesn't know how to dance, Billy."

"I can teach you. I taught Mac." He pulled her just onto the edge of the dance floor, showing her where to put her hands. All of his animosity from before had vanished; he was slow, patient. Machiavelli took his drink, watching the two of them together. For the hundredth time since their conversation last night, he wondered who it was Billy was in love with. He hoped she was a nice and that she loved the Kid back.

He heard Jill laugh and he smiled. Whatever Billy was saying to her, she apparently thought it was quite funny. An ever widening circle around them was forming as people moved away from them in alarm- they'd given up on dancing like normal people and now the Kid seemed to be showing her some kind of high stepping waltz fusion dance.

"Maybe it's not so bad that he doesn't love me," Machiavelli muttered quietly to himself. He saw Billy look over at him, ten feet away and he froze- he'd forgotten that with their heightened senses there was the chance of the Kid overhearing him. He gave a little wave and a shrug, smiling at him, Billy looked back down at Jill.

Machiavelli sighed, deflating once more. He had sick feeling in the pit of his stomach every time he thought about Billy with someone else. It felt like his insides had knotted up on themselves.

Their meal finally came and he got up to get them, but Jill must have seen the waiter come over because she led the outlaw off the dance floor, pink in the face and breathless with unlaughed laughter. "He's as funny as you told me he was," she told Machiavelli, her face all aglow.

"He can be," Machiavelli agreed mildly, remembering the earlier half of the night.

Billy half looked over at him, sensing the implications of the tactician's coolness. "I'm sorry I was so brusque before," he apologized, looking over the table at her. "I just… I was just thinking about something which makes me sad and you happened to come in in the middle of it all."

She nodded. "It's fine. Really," she added cause both men still looked indecisive. "I know what it's like to be absentminded. I'm kind of glad that you cancelled the other day," she confided to the Italian immortal. "I wasn't myself. It wouldn't have been enjoyable. I was in a horrible mood."

"I'm not sure that I believe that," he told her lightly. "I have never seen you in a bad mood."

"Oh, I'm terrible when I'm in a bad mood," she assured him. Leaning on her hand, she laughed a little. "I'm the meanest person ever…"

"Why were you upset?" Billy asked her. But she wouldn't tell them.

Hours later, they dropped her off at her apartment again. Billy came to the door with Machiavelli this time, making sure she got into the building safely. They left the little front door alcove, their breath forming before them in frosty puffs. "I want to find her someone to date," Billy asserted, waiting for some cars to pass so he could get in.

"Why?"

"I think she's lonely."

"I don't know. She's driven, she has friends."

"But maybe she'd be happier if she wasn't alone," he postulated, looking behind him to back up.

Machiavelli twisted around too to look back at the street. "There's nobody coming now. And I think that there are a lot of people who live alone who don't need or want anyone to be romantically involved with."

"But doesn't she seem a bit lonely to you?"

"I suppose… It's probably hard on her. It sounds like a lot of her friends are getting married and having children at this point."

"I'm just surprised that she hasn't already met someone herself- she's a nice girl."

"Well…"

"Well, what?" Billy looked over at him.

"Nothing, nothing."

"No, there was something."

He sighed. "I can't tell you, it's really her decision to share with others… But I know why she's having trouble finding a partner."

Billy looked like he still had some questions but he let it go, respecting the Italian's opinion even if he didn't understand it. Abruptly, he asked, "Are you still coming with me tomorrow?"

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"I thought maybe I upset you last night," Billy mumbled. "Mac… Do you think you'll ever want to date someone again?"

"No," Machiavelli said at once, thinking about how much he'd fallen in love with the Kid and how much it hurt to find out that it couldn't be. "I loved my wife," he said, remembering Marietta and feeling a different kind of ache in his heart. "And I promised her I wouldn't fall in love again. I think I'm destined to be alone."

Billy was so quiet in his seat that Machiavelli actually looked over to see if he was alright. "William?"

"Just thinking some more," the Kid said, catching his glance. "We're… we're leaving early tomorrow. I think I'm going to go to bed pretty early tonight."

"I probably won't be long after you," Machiavelli agreed. Reaching over, he fiddled with the radio, turning it up to fill the sudden silence that had blossomed between them.


	64. Chapter 64

Nicholas stayed behind in Philadelphia with Sophie but, with a little coaxing, the boys managed to convince Scatty to join their group. "Only because you need all the help you can get," she said, poking Billy in the back of the head. She settled in next to Machiavelli, who was wishing for the first time in his life that he'd been created a shorter man.

Perenelle looked back at them from her coveted place in the passenger seat. "Are you sure you're comfortable back there, Niccolo?"

"Don't worry about me," Machiavelli assured her, trying to smile a bit. "Really," he added, because she was looking unconvinced. "My only problem is this one bag," he said, shifting the suitcase they hadn't managed to fit in the trunk. He pushed it more into the middle of the floor of the backseat. "Is that okay, Scatty?"

"Yeah, it's fine," she agreed idly. "Are we ready to go, kid?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah. I was just checking our route. Here, can you keep watch for me, later on? I think I'll be fine, but you never know." He passed his phone back to Perenelle and took the brake off.

"Let me know when you want me to start giving you directions," Perenelle told him. He nodded. In the backseat, Scatty leaned against Machiavelli, who put his arm around her. Leaning his head against hers, he suggested under his breath that she might try to get some more sleep- it was still early morning.

Billy was the only one who seemed at all awake. The others watched sleepily as the scenery changed from city scape to suburbs to countryside, but Billy beat out a rhythm on the steering wheel and sang Broadway hits, unblushingly knowledgeable about several musicals, it would seem. He tried to get the others to join in, but they all declined in varying degrees of politeness.

It took much of the day to get to Indiana. Even Billy was quiet by the time they'd rolled over the border of the state; in fact, he grew more pensive by the hour and Machiavelli had a feeling that despite what he'd said before about being certain his mother wasn't in Indiana, the American immortal was truly and deeply hoping to find her this time.

Tired from the hours on the road, they decided not to start their search that night, but instead checked in to the only place with vacancies that they could find- a cheap motel on the edge of town, where sparse trees grew to the east and neon lights blinked to the west. There they had a quick and hasty meal in the girls' room before splitting into their individual groups. It was still past midnight by the time Machiavelli and Billy got into their room.

"I guess you get what you pay for," Billy said, moments after the Italian flicked on the light to their room. Their room was exactly the same as the one Scatty and Perenelle were staying in, except that it seemed slightly smaller, which was really saying something.

"It's… homey," Machiavelli said drily, putting his bag down on the ground. Shutting the door behind them, he surveyed the room they'd just paid for. The more he looked at it, the more dreadful it seemed. It was absolutely tiny- basically a square room with a full size bed on one side and a couch with an end table on the other. At the back, they could see the bathroom which Machiavelli sincerely hoped had hot water.

"Good thing we're close," Billy commented, moving over to the mattress. "This has got to be the smallest bed that they could have put in here, beyond putting a twin in here."

Machiavelli bent down over his suitcase, not wanting the Kid to see on his face that he wasn't disappointed. He relished the situations where he was forced into close proximity with the American immortal. Even now that things were going so poorly, he knew he was going to enjoy the next few days of close contact. "I'm going to close the blinds," he commented instead, turning away and closing them off from the outside world. He turned around to find Billy changing. "Ah, sorry. You were awfully quiet."

"S'okay. I just want to get in bed." The Kid tossed his shirt over into the corner and shimmied out of his jeans. Stepping out of them, he pushed them aside indifferently; Machiavelli heard the rattle of coins and the heavy thud of Billy's wallet, but his attention was really on the Kid's physique. Shaking his head, Machiavelli forced himself to think of Billy in terms of a whole person. _He's just a friend. A friend that looks incredibly tired._ "Long trip, huh, Mac?" Billy said, breaking into his thoughts.

"Si. You must be the most tired, having done all the driving… I'll be right out. I'm just going to change," he said vaguely, moving past the other man and into their little bathroom. He got undressed as quickly as he could, motivated to be fast by his own exhaustion; tonight, he forewent brushing his teeth.

In the other room, he found Billy already in bed, setting an alarm on his phone. "It's cold, isn't it?" the outlaw commented, shivering slightly.

"Is there an extra blanket?"

"Nah, I looked. Are you going to be cold? You can wear one of my sweatshirts."

"This shirt's pretty warm. But yeah, if I get cold, I'll track one down." Machiavelli eased himself onto the bed on his side. "Hi," he laughed, finding himself nose to nose with the American. "Fancy meeting you here."

Billy giggled. "We're probably lucky this bed's so fricking small. We're going to need to share body heat to live through the night."

"I think the long trip is getting to us," Machiavelli whispered. "We're pretty giddy for two grown men."

"I'm always giddy," Billy said immediately, a small smile curving his lips. As he said it though, the smile faded slightly.

"Thinking about your mother?" the Italian immortal asked, throwing his arm under his head to prop himself up a bit more.

"Uhm, yeah. I'd like her to be here, but I have a feeling that she's not… We only stayed here a little bit. So really, I'm wasting Perenelle's time. Yours too, you know."

"It's hardly a waste of my time. I'd do anything to help you. Anyways, we have to check. What if we assumed she wasn't here and never found her?"

"Perenelle says that ghosts pick places that were meaningful to them in life… I hope she's not in New York- can you picture searching there? The buildings are all different and there's tons of people, we'd never be able to find her. Plus, Perry was telling me that larger cities have higher populations of ghosts, which makes sense but…"

Niccolo thought Billy was getting a bit caught up in his fears. "William…"

"I'm rambling?"

"A bit… Let's not borrow troubles. We haven't even looked here yet."

"Okay…"

Machiavelli looked over at him. He could barely see the American immortal in the inky darkness, but he cast around for a different topic, wanting to allay some of the Kid's fears, if only temporarily. "Did this place always look like this?"

"I've never been in this motel before," Billy said sleepily.

The tactician shook his head. "Oh, no, I meant Indiana."

"I don't really remember," he slurred. "This is where I lived when I was a toddler. And there's stores everywhere nowadays… those weren't there back when I was here. Changes the landscape a bit…" He rotated his neck and squirmed a little. "My back's out of whack from all this driving," he mumbled.

"I can help you with that," Machiavelli said, rolling back onto his side. "My wife used to have back problems," he explained. "Probably from carrying a baby around for ten years- we always had a toddler, it seemed. Lie on your stomach."

Switching the light back on, he rubbed his hands together to warm them up. "Where does it hurt?" He began working on the spot Billy indicated, using his thumbs to lightly put pressure on his sore muscles. "How's that?"

"S'good," Billy whispered, turning his face to the side. He was rigid though; Machiavelli thought he must have really been sore. "Could you- could you do lower? It's right around here that it really hurts," he indicated, rubbing his lower vertebrae.

"Sure- sure," Machiavelli agreed reluctantly. He wondered why Billy was continuing to torture him; the spot he'd indicated was barely above the outlaw's ass. "Does it feel like your back is out of alignment?"

Billy rolled his shoulders around experimentally. "Maybe?"

"Okay, well we can't do anything about that up here. Get on the floor."

The Kid lifted his head. "Scusi?"

"Get on the floor. I need a hard surface."

"Oh. Okay, I guess. If you're sure…" He laid facedown. "This floor's very cold, you know," he mumbled.

"I'll be quick," Machiavelli promised. "What I need is for you to breathe in slowly and then breathe out the same way. I'm going to push down when you breathe out." He thought he'd prepared Billy pretty well for what was going to happen but the Kid let out a squeak of surprise nonetheless when Machiavelli cracked his back. "Did it hurt?" Machiavelli asked, afraid for a minute that the years of not practicing had caught up to him.

"No, but did you hear that noise? Oh god, Mac…"

"Well, let's keep going," Niccolo said hastily. He moved down the Kid's spinal column, patting Billy on the shoulder when he was done. "Think you can sleep now?"

The outlaw got to his feet, flexing his back. "Yeah… Thanks, Mac."

"Sure, don't mention it." Machiavelli clambered back into bed, crawling onto his side of the bed and flopping down. He felt the bed shift as Billy jumped in beside, exuberantly settling in for the night. Switching off the light again, he felt his eyes itch with tiredness; he was asleep before he knew it.

Outside, the wind swirled, bringing a fresh layer of snow down upon them. Billy's Thunderbird was now buried under inches of precipitation, more coming down as they slept. Despite being much more tired than any of the others, Billy was restless, unable to sleep. Sun was already peeking into the room when he finally slipped into unconsciousness.

~MB~

"Mm," Machiavelli sighed, stretching his legs. He brushed against something and frowned. Something was wrong. He coughed, turned over, and wrapped his arm around Billy. _Maybe it's just because I'm so cold… wait- what- Billy?_

Opening his eyes, he found himself nose to nose with the outlaw, Billy's stale morning breath blowing into his face at regular intervals. He jolted, just barely containing a shout of surprise.

He had to think- _should he wake up Billy or let him sleep? Technically, he'd rolled over into the outlaw's space, but now it was getting harder to think… especially with Billy hooking his leg around his._ He had to do it- he poked the American immortal.

Billy snuffled and burrowed deeper, resting his forehead on the Italian's chest.

"Billy," he whispered. "William!"

"Whatsamatter?" Billy asked groggily. He lifted his head, blinked at finding himself in such close contact with Niccolo, and let out the yell that the Italian had stifled. Machiavelli shushed him immediately, looking over instinctively at the wall in between their room and the female immortals.

"What's happening?" Billy asked wildly, trying to sit up, getting tangled in the blankets, and flopping down again on his back, like some deranged killer whale.

"I think… we were cold?" Machiavelli suggested dubiously, scrunching down in the bed. "Why is it so fucking cold in here?"

The Kid rubbed his nose. "It's like there's no heat. Do you think the heat went out last night?" He coughed into his elbow. "I'm going to get a pullover- you want one? What time is it?" he mumbled distractedly. "Oh, it's definitely still time to be asleep." He threw his blue sweatshirt over to the Italian immortal, grabbing his other sweater and pulling it on.

Machiavelli watched him walking around the room, surreptitiously checking him out. "What time is it?"

"Five. What even woke you up?"

Niccolo bemusedly pulled the sweatshirt on. Semi-asleep, he didn't have the time or energy to pussyfoot around the subject. "Are we really going to pretend it wasn't that boner you were grinding into my hip?"

The Kid flushed. "You know I get wood in the morning."

"Why the devil would I know that?"

"Oh, well, we've shared a bed for months now. I thought you noticed everything."

"Maybe I don't notice because I normally have more room to outrun you," Machiavelli remarked drily. He yanked the blankets into shape, shaking them so that they floated up and landed in relatively better order than they had been in.

"I assure you, it's not a personal vendetta." Billy laid back down. "Maybe it got frozen in the on position?"

"Why was it in the on position at all?"

"I'm going to plead the fifth on that one," Billy sighed, burying himself in blankets once more.

When they woke up three hours later, Billy had wrapped his arms around Machiavelli's torso again. Instead of waking him up, Niccolo slipped out of his grasp as gently as he could and began to dress in the chilly early dusk.

The Kid stirred fifteen minutes later, yanking all the blankets off the bed and wrapping them around him. He sat in the middle of the mattress, looking around dolefully. Hearing a knock at their door, Machiavelli left him there, crossing the room to open the door. "Good morning, ladies," he said pleasantly, letting them in.

"Mon dieu, why is it so frigid in here?" Perenelle said immediately upon crossing the threshold.

Billy peeped out of his mound of blankets. "It isn't this cold in your room?"

"Non."

"That's it, we have to complain, Mac!" Billy swore vehemently, flopping dramatically to the side. He overestimated how much bed he had left and, flailing, began to fall off the end. Machiavelli pushed him backwards, back onto the bed, before turning to the two women. "Where are we going to start today?"

"I thought we might look up some maps at the library. The town's historical society is housed in the same building; I saw it last night as we were coming in," Perenelle said cogently. "We only have a general sense of where Billy lived after all… he was only a child when he lived here…"

"Do you really think we're going to find out anything?" he called from his place on the bed, already sounding defeated. "This is beginning to sound impossible…"

"Nonsense," she negated crisply. "I just need a place to start. Get dressed. We're going to get lunch first and then we'll start." The two female immortals got up again. Scatty grabbed Billy's keys off of the coffee table and they were gone.

"I really think it'll turn out alright in the end," Machiavelli told Billy, helping to pull him to his feet. "Want me to wait outside while you change?"

"Nah. Nah, I don't mind you here," the Kid told him. Letting go of the blankets, he let them fall around him, pooling at his feet. "It's so cold in here." Grabbing a pair of jeans from his suitcase, he jumped into them, two feet at once. Doing them up, he wandered around the room, threading his belt through the loops. Machiavelli tossed him a Henley which the American immortal put on over the sweatshirt he'd worn to bed. "Okay… I'm ready."

Machiavelli handed him his bomber jacket before putting on his overcoat. They couldn't have looked more different today, he reflected, following Billy out of their room and down the metal stairs, which squealed unnervingly under their weight.

Scatty must have been thinking the same thing because as she began to make her way into the back of the car, she looked at them thoughtfully and laughed a bit. Machiavelli didn't mind. Squeezing in beside her, he gave her a lopsided grin.

Hours later, he hardly felt like grinning at all. They'd spent hours in the town's tiny little library, poring over old land records; occasionally, one of them would find something which seemed to pertain to the Kid's situation, but so far, they had come up blank- those sparse leads never panned out.

Machiavelli was just about to give up when he turned another page in an old, bound together album of newspapers from the 19th century and caught a title which made him stop. 'Local toddler found safe after blizzard,' the article read and, with a leap in his heart, he read the first sentence- 'Katherine McCarthy was overjoyed to find her son, William Henry, 3, after he wandered off of their homestead, thirty miles from the quickly developing town of Indianapolis…'. He felt a jolt of excitement. "Caro."

"Mac?" The Kid looked up. "Did you find something?"

Unable to vocalize his excitement, Machiavelli tapped the article with his well-manicured finger. Curious, Billy leaned in. He looked sharply at the Italian, who nodded. Billy pulled the book towards him. "The boy was checked out at City Hospital before being released to the loving care of his mother. Mac, that's me!"

Machiavelli beamed at him. Now, even if they did not find Billy's mother, they couldn't say this trip was a waste. Watching Billy read the tiny little article, he felt overwhelmingly fond of the outlaw; the article clearly meant everything to him.

Perenelle peered over Machiavelli's shoulder too. "That's great, Billy cher. This means though," she said, looking over at the Italian who dipped his head in agreement, "that we're a town over from where we should be."

They would have liked to do more, but the sun was going down and around them, the staff was preparing to close the library for the day. Seeing an older woman approaching their little table with a stern look on her face, they began to gather their stuff. Billy made a photocopy of the article Machiavelli had found and very reluctantly followed them out.

Back at the hotel, the boys were moved down a room after negotiating with the disinterested motel manager for several minutes. Flipping on the television, Machiavelli was glad that they were at least going to be warm tonight.


	65. Chapter 65

AN: I'm sorry for the delay in posting this, but I've been watching the last couple of weeks here in America with a great sense of horror. Trump's executive orders do not reflect the country that I know and love. I urge all of my fellow American citizens to reach out to their Senators and Representatives, regardless of your age, to speak out about issues you find important (and try to adopt at least one issue that might not be as important to you). Call or write to your Congresspeople as this is much harder to ignore.

I hope the events of the past couple of days reminds us all to treat each other with extra kindness. Needless to say, stand up for those around you who are Muslim, persons of color, LGBTQ+, women, and scientists, etc- they need all the support they can get.

* * *

With a lot of fact checking at the library the next day, and some help from the local genealogical society, they were able to narrow down the location of Billy's former home to two possible surrounding towns- Noblesville, which had been Noblestown in the Kid's time, but had since grown, and Greenfield, to the east of where they were.

"We're a little bit off, aren't we then," Billy said in an undertone, glancing out the window at the cold, gray sky.

"Well, we had to start somewhere," Machiavelli argued resolutely. "We're going to start tonight, then?" he asked Perenelle, leaning forward to gauge her reaction.

She nodded, her mouth a thin line. "It's not likely to get any warmer. We might as well start."

"And what are we doing exactly?" Billy interjected, also leaning forward, and resting his hand on Machiavelli's knee without thinking about it. "We just going to go door to door, looking for spooks? Halloween was last month…"

"I thought," Perenelle said, creases forming between her eyebrows, "that we'd start canvassing as close as we can to where we think we might find her. There will be other ghosts," Billy shivered, but she continued, "in the surrounding area and they often pay more attention than you might think."

"I don't want to think about how much ghosts are paying attention to us, thank you very much," Scatty muttered to Machiavelli, who had to smile and shake his head, indicating that he too, would rather not know how often he was being observed.

"They might," Perenelle continued, raising her voice over Scatty, who quieted, "be able to give us clues which would help us narrow down, or dismiss entirely, areas to search."

"And you really want to do this?" Billy asked, meeting her eyes. "We could… put it off a bit…"

"No time like the present," she said wearily. "We should do it after dark so as to avoid detection. While I make contact with the spirits, you'll stay with me. Niccolo and Scathach," her eyes swept over them, and they stopped their side conversation to listen, "will keep a lookout so that we won't be interrupted or discovered."

"Sure," Scatty agreed. To her right, Machiavelli nodded.

"Okay, well, I'm going to take a nap before we go," she decided, standing up. "How about we meet in an hour? We can have dinner and go to whichever town we decide to start with." She patted Billy on the shoulder and stepped out of the room, heading towards the room that she shared with Scatty.

"Are you going to sleep?" Scatty asked both men, looking at them.

Billy shook his head. "Not me. I couldn't sleep last night," he admitted nervously. "I just…" But he couldn't say anymore.

Machiavelli waited a moment, wanting to see if he would continue. When he didn't, the Italian immortal also shook his head. "No, I'm fine. William, it will be okay," he added, because Billy was bouncing his leg restlessly.

"Uh huh."

"Even if we don't find her tonight, that doesn't mean we never will."

"Yeah, Mac, sure," Billy agreed absently.

Niccolo glanced at Scathach, looking for help. She shrugged, shook her head. He looked back at the Kid, who was clearly lost in his own thoughts. "Want a hug, caro?" he asked desperately, as a last resort.

The Kid looked up, and blinked. "Sorry. What?"

"Want a hug?" Machiavelli repeated, feeling a little ridiculous for suggesting it at all.

"Yeah," Billy agreed immediately though. Ducking under Machiavelli's arm, he wrapped his arms around the Italian immortal's skinny middle and laid his head across his chest. "Tell me when this gets weird," he said into Niccolo's armpit.

"Billy, it's always weird," Machiavelli intoned, petting the Kid's hair.

"Oh… well I'm comfy, so I guess you're going to have to live with it for a few more minutes," the American said sleepily. He closed his eyes.

The tactician wrapped an arm around Billy's shoulder. He felt a thrill of pleasure, lower than the pit of his stomach- maybe there was a little hope for the future after all… He couldn't be sure…

"Is he asleep?" Scatty asked and he blinked, realizing that he'd been daydreaming.

"Sorry?" he said quickly, looking over at her. She pointed to the Kid who was still leaning into the other man, his breathing deep and regular. "Asleep? He might have fallen asleep…"

"I'm awake," Billy mumbled. Sitting up, he stretched. "Just catnapping…"

"Sure," Scatty said archly.

"I was," the outlaw insisted lightly, still not moving an inch.

"Maybe you should actually take a nap though," Machiavelli suggested, carding his fingers through Billy's hair. "You didn't sleep much last night and we're going to be up all the night."

"I suppose…"

~MB~

They were again, very quiet, as they drove up. Perenelle offered to drive, but Billy, remembering only too well when she'd stolen his car during the summer, politely declined. He felt a swooping sensation in his stomach. He wanted very much to spill out all of his fears and predictions in that one moment, but at the same time, felt that he would throw up if he said anything at all.

Glancing back in the rearview mirror, he met the eyes of the Italian immortal, who gave him a slight nod, as if to tell him not to worry. But Billy was worried. He wished, for the hundredth time that week, that he had not fallen in love with his tall friend, or that by some miracle the tactician would realize that they were a good match for each other; either way, he wouldn't feel like his stomach had been filled with gravel, the way he felt at the moment. If, at the end of this night, it turned out that they were no closer to finding his mother, at least then he would be able to lie down next to the other man and tell him that he loved him and perhaps hear it back. He longed for Niccolo's redamancy the way some longed for treasure or adventure.

These fantasies bore him almost through the entire journey, though they seemed to distract him a bit, because twice Perenelle had to point out their exit at the last minute and once, he went past their turn completely and had to turn around and work his way back. He apologized profusely, but could offer no explanation for his behavior. How could he tell the others that he'd been thinking about the Italian immortal and the stuff that he would like to try on the other man?

Partly because of the distance and partly because of Billy's absent minded driving, they didn't arrive in the little town of Noblesville until ten o'clock. There were very few lights- apparently the city was saving itself some money by refusing to provide street lamps because even in the middle of the city, there were often large passages of darkness, interrupted only by the lights of their car. As they progressed out the other end of town, these lights went away entirely. Soon, only the headlights of their car sliced through the darkness and these Perenelle suggested he turn off. They were too conspicuous.

Billy obliged her, though it was now very hard to see the road as they had only a partial moon above them. He continued down the road about a half a mile and parked in a cemetery, feeling rather unsettled by their surroundings.

"Right," Perenelle said, in almost a whisper. She shone a little flashlight on their map that they'd marked and in the backseat, Machiavelli and Scatty leaned forward so that they could see as well. "We're not going to start here in the cemetery- there's likely too many spirits here and your mother wasn't buried here, at any rate. We'll go down the road to that farm house we passed. These two will keep guard," she said, indicating the two in the backseat, "while you and I stir up some spirits.

"Alright," Billy agreed, trying to sound as if he was excited by this plan rather than nervous. They all got out of the Thunderbird. Gazing out into the caliginous night, Billy the Kid felt a real sense of foreboding; the farther they went from "civilization", even civilization as laughable as their motel had been, the darker the landscape. Only the luminescence of the moon gave them a little light with which to work. It bounced off of the worn and faded stones of the graveyard, making the atmosphere around them ten times spookier somehow. Billy didn't like being here, especially not after all the Frenchwoman's talk of spirits…

"Right," Perenelle said again, sounding a little more worried herself now. "We're close to where your house should have been, Billy, assuming it was up here… We'll walk a ways then I'm going to lower my defenses- let some ghosts approach. They might be able to provide some clues."

"Okay," Billy agreed, looking disconcerted.

"At least one of you should watch the farmhouse," the Frenchwoman continued. She glanced from Machiavelli to Scathach.

"I'll do it," Scatty agreed at once.

"I'll keep an eye out in the other direction." Machiavelli moved away from them. Billy wanted to call the tall man back to him, he needed him, but it would appear quite odd. He let the tactician walk away, turning to face Perenelle again.

"You said you lived by a river. There's a brook over that way," she pointed out, hastily looking at her own map. "Let's start over there, quietly now…"

Keeping a wary eye on the dark house in the distance, they crept through a vegetable garden and skirted around several large bushes. Billy heaved a sigh of relief as the terrain changed- the ground dipped downward and they were much more disguised than they had been. He glanced around, his breathe misting the air; wherever Machiavelli and Scatty were, he couldn't see them.

Perenelle had stopped in a little landing by the river. He peered down over the edge. The ground almost seemed cut by the little inlet of water. It dropped several feet very suddenly and a broken tree trunk hung half off the land and half in the water. Overall, the river seemed largely frozen. They could just barely hear the gurgling moans of water running. "I'm going to reveal myself to the ghosts now," she said, and his head snapped up to look at her.

For a moment, there was silence. Then, with an electrical crackling noise, her aura sprang into light. He was afraid that the brightness would attract the attention of the mortals, but after a moment, the white slipped away and other colors crept forward- traces of yellow, then blue, then purple- before disappearing altogether. He rubbed his eyes where little spots of light danced in front of him. "Where-?" he asked, but she pointed.

Glancing down at the river, he shuddered to see a ghostly form rising up from it. Without knowing why, he closed in closer to Perenelle, putting himself between her and the apparition. Already though, he could see another wispy shape jump down from a tree and then, when she touched his arm, he looked back to see a woman wearing a very long dress standing behind them, as though waiting to be introduced. "They won't hurt you, Billy, sweetheart," the Frenchwoman said, taking his hand.

Billy looked at her a little wildly. He wanted to believe her, but his heart was still hammering in his chest. The woman ghost stepped forward now. He was grateful to find that she was very normal looking, almost kind, despite the fact that she'd been dead for over a hundred years if he was going to judge based on her clothing. "H-hello?" he said to her cautiously.

"We haven't had any of your sort around here in a long time," she said, moving forward. Her gray eyes searched his. He found that if he just looked into her eyes, it was rather like looking at Machiavelli's eyes; for the first time since they'd gotten out of the car, he calmed down.

"We're looking for a particular spirit," Perenelle said behind him. She squeezed his hand. "Billy used to live around here when he was a child."

"Who are you?" Billy asked suddenly, still looking at her eyes.

"In life, my name was Florence Wells," she said in a rather circular manner. "I lived across the river, on my father's farm."

"And how long have you been here?" Perenelle asked, much calmer sounding than Billy felt. He couldn't help but look over his shoulder. A man with a blood spattered military uniform was leaning against a musket, twenty paces away from them. He said nothing but his eyes bored into them.

"I drowned in this river in 1843," he heard the spirit say, but he was following the gaze of the soldier now. They both watched two young boys scampering through the woods. Billy squinted. The taller of the two was a black child, dressed in clothing from the nineteen fifties. The other boy was clearly from much earlier.

"She didn't know your mother, I'm afraid," Perenelle said, surprising him.

"Where'd she go?" Billy asked, spinning on his heel.

"She's gone," the Frenchwoman said simply. "They come and go." She approached the soldier, rather bravely, the outlaw thought. He waited for them, not saying a word. "Pardon me," she said, "but we're looking for a woman who used to live around here."

"What's the name?" he asked, his voice sounding oddly rusty and disused.

"McCarthy. Katherine McCarthy," the Kid said, stepping forward.

The soldier shook his head and Billy felt a sour feeling of disappointment dissolve in his stomach. "There's been no one of that name around here."

"Are you sure? Only, it's very important to me…"

"When did she come from? What time period?" The man sounded slightly bored. Billy told him that she would have come from the mid 19th century and again the man shook his head. "No, there's no one in this branch of the woods… my territory spans the next mile or so… You might check further down river."

With a curt nod, the man spun on his heel. Billy leapt backwards; quite unexpectedly, the back of the man's head was blown apart, a large hole the size of an orange gaping at them from under the man's hat. Perenelle herself had turned a nasty greenish color, but she grabbed his hand and led him away, moving along the edge of the river.

"How will the others know to follow us?" he asked as they slunk through several more backyards and fields.

"I'm going to send up sparks in a minute," she whispered back. "They know to follow them…"

More ghosts were appearing as they moved through the countryside. The outlaw couldn't help but keep glancing behind them. He could see a line of spirits behind them, dotting the landscape in pale puffs of light. Squinting, he searched for Machiavelli and Scatty. "No, they're tracking us, actually," he said in surprise. "How'd they know to do that?"

"Can you see them?" Perenelle asked, glancing behind them now too. She stopped.

"No," he mused. "I can sense their auras. Mac's closer." They waited by the road, in a copse of trees. The Italian immortal emerged first from the darkness, closely followed by the Shadow. Billy was so happy to see the both of them, that he rushed forward and threw his arms around them, knocking their heads together.

"Any luck?" Machiavelli whispered as Scatty twisted out of Billy's embrace, leaving the two men alone together. He patted the outlaw's arm and slipped an arm around his shoulder.

"None," Billy said gloomily. "We've talked to quite a few spirits- I didn't expect this many- but they hadn't heard anything about her, not even when she was living here. I guess it's hit or miss…"

"We're going to try for a bit more before we retire for the night," Perenelle interjected, glancing up at the sky. "We have maybe an hour or two left before it gets too light out. I'll be ready to stop by then anyways…"

She sounded tired but Billy couldn't bring himself to call their adventure short, not when they still hadn't found anything out yet. They all walked into a heavily wooded area, following the river's edge. There were much fewer houses here, though they almost walked into a homeless encampment at one point and had to swing out to avoid detection. "I can't believe there are people out here," Billy chattered miserably. "It's snowing again…"

"I think that will be our last stop for the night," Perenelle told him hesitantly, sometime later. Already the sky was starting to lighten. They'd talked to at least forty spirits in all and had gotten nothing for all their work- no one had heard the name before or met a spirit matching her description.

Now they had to make their way back to the car before it really started to get light. They were forced to turn around and follow their path backwards again, slipping on snowdrifts and accidentally stepping into holes in the ground.

The American immortal felt completely downtrodden. He had dragged them all out here in the middle of the night to walk through the snow and they hadn't found anything out at all. He was surprised when Niccolo slipped a hand around his waist- he glanced at him curiously, but the other immortal didn't say anything- and leaned against him, letting the two female immortals lead. He blushed furiously when Machiavelli pressed a kiss to his forehead.


	66. Chapter 66

The sun was up by the time they got back to the car, shimmering slightly on the snow covered ground. Machiavelli got a good look at their group for the first time- they all seemed slightly wet and overall tired, and Billy was walking with a limp. "Let Perenelle drive," he suggested to the outlaw.

Billy offered no objections. He seemed beyond the point of arguing. Looking at their muddy boots, Machiavelli looked over at Scatty and back at the American immortal. She seemed to understand. Taking the keys from the Kid's numb hands, she opened the trunk and pulled out the tarps that he kept there. Machiavelli remembered them clearly from when they'd painted the cabin. Opening the door opposite Scatty's, he helped her put the tarps down on the floor.

"We can sit in the back," Niccolo suggested to Billy at last, closing the trunk and gesturing the slighter man over.

"Okay…"

Billy was cold all over. Machiavelli held his hand the whole drive back, trying to thaw the chill that had crept in. Unfortunately for them, the Thunderbird was hardly equipped to deal with the subarctic temperatures they'd been dealing with and it only really began to heat up when they were about ten miles away from their motel.

"Going to get some sleep now?" Perenelle asked them, as they parked. Both men nodded, neither of them wanting to say anything. "Good… We'll get up later. Figure out what we're going to try next..."

Machiavelli nodded again. One hand on Billy's shoulder, he pushed the younger immortal towards the stairs leading to their level. Behind them, Scatty followed Perenelle into their room.

He was beginning to worry about the Kid when he still hadn't spoken, but as their door clicked shut, Billy spoke for the first time since they'd gotten into the car. "That was a rubbish night."

"It was…" Machiavelli searched for a positive way to spin the night, but there really hadn't been one. They'd interviewed dozens of spirits, who existed in varying states of horror, they'd spent a cold and unproductive night traipsing through the woods, and now they were all exhausted. "It wasn't the worst thing that could happen," he insisted. "Now we know she's not up there. And these are the areas we're least sure about. We have a much better chance when we look in the places that you remember."

Billy was shivering. He didn't say anything to counter or support what Machiavelli had said, but the Italian immortal wasn't looking for much of a response. "You're freezing, caro," he pointed out gently. Stepping into the outlaw's personal space, he unzipped his jacket. Billy offered no help and, with a twisting feeling in his stomach, Machiavelli proceeded to slip it off entirely.

Their eyes met briefly, each wondering what was going to happen next, perhaps. Catching the hems of both Billy's sweater and t-shirt, Machiavelli pulled them up over his head and tossed them on the ground. Billy stepped out of his boots, and stumbled a little on his bad leg. Machiavelli caught him and then hesitated. "Go ahead," Billy told him, sounding very tired and beyond caring about what was happening.

Careful where he put his hands and what he touched, Niccolo undid the other man's belt, then the button of his jeans. It felt very strange to undress another man, but also very exciting. He wished the Kid didn't look so sad though. He used the back of his hand against Billy's hip to see if the damp had sunk all the way down through his layers, but his briefs were dry, if a little cold. The tactician looked up into Billy's dark green eyes. "Go to bed."

The outlaw gave a jerking nod. "Are you coming?" he asked, limping over to his side of their full.

"Yeah… Yeah, just as soon as I get this stuff off. You- You would think we swam down the river the amount of ice on the bottom of my pants…" He chattered, having to work hard to undo the laces of his boots, his own fingers fairly numb themselves.

He was conscious of Billy watching him, but he was too cold and too tired to make much of it; he got undressed at a much quicker pace than he had used with the American immortal and climbed into bed, blinking in the semi-darkness. He had never known he could be so grateful to find himself in bed. "Don't be sad, Billy."

"I'm just a little bit sad," the American immortal confessed.

"It was a rough night," Machiavelli conceded finally. "But we knew we might not find anything…"

Billy rolled onto his back and pawed around on his bedside table. Grabbing up his wallet, he took out a folded piece of paper and dropped the rest of the billfold over the side of the bed. He unfolded it- it was the copy of the newspaper they'd found. "I know that we had to be somewhere around here at some point. But what if we don't find it?" he murmured, gazing at the article.

Machiavelli moved closer. Invading Billy's pillow, he took the article from the American immortal and held it above them. "I know this seems stupid to say after last night, but I think we'll have better luck tonight. If not finding your mother exactly, at least finding the spot where you lived. And that would be nice too, wouldn't it?" He handed it back to Billy, who dropped it onto the bedside table.

"Yeah…"

Despite Billy's morose nature, Machiavelli couldn't help grinning at him. He'd been feeling a bit downtrodden lately about the prospects of their relationship, but somehow… Billy needed him now and he would be there for him. Stretching over, he kissed the Kid on the cheek, making Billy huff in surprise and close his eyes. "Buonanotte, ti amo. Get some sleep," he added, shifting back onto his side of the bed.

They slept the entire day. In fact, it was only a call from Perenelle that woke them up as the sun was beginning to go down. "Hello?" Machiavelli asked sleepily, holding the phone the wrong way and having to turn it around.

"Rise and shine. Are you ready to make a fresh attempt?"

Machiavelli looked around to Billy's side of the bed. The Kid was still snoring softly, the blankets twisted around him. "Yeah, I guess so. I'll wake Billy. Mm hm. Yeah, okay," he said, not really paying attention to what he was agreeing to. "Yeah, we'll be ready in… like twenty minutes. We'll knock on your door." They hung up.

"Billy? Billy," he said a little louder. He smacked the outlaw on the ass.

"What time is it?" the Kid said, immediately coming out of a deep sleep and looking around in a panic. "Why didn't I put anything on to go to bed?"

"It's six o'clock," Machiavelli told him, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "And, I don't know… we were both pretty tired this morning." He pulled his bag closer. "I need warmer clothes. It's only the start of the winter…"

"You can wear one of my sweaters," Billy said distractedly, pulling his pillow over his head again.

"You're not falling asleep again, are you?" Machiavelli asked suspiciously.

"Yeah…"

"Billy, wake up!" Niccolo said loudly.

"Oh… but I'm so sleepy," the outlaw groused, climbing slowly out of the bed. He crawled out from under the covers and sat beside the Italian immortal, clearly not entirely awake. Leaning against Machiavelli, he let out a soft snore.

The tactician gave him about half a minute's rest before he shook him roughly awake. The American immortal let out a piteous moan, which Niccolo ignored, knowing it was only going to get harder to wake up. "Come on, the cold will wake you up," he said, dragging the younger man to his feet. He slapped the Kid's cheeks, rather harder than he needed to until Billy squirmed away, grumbling and groaning as he gathered his clothing and dumped it all on the bed. Sorting through, he dressed at top speed, suddenly seeming to come awake.

Machiavelli sat on the couch, trying not to watch the other man dress, though there was very little else to distract him in this room. _We're looking for his mother,_ he reminded himself sharply, turning around entirely when Billy bent over to retrieve his wallet. _So cut it out._

"I'm ready," the outlaw said, at long last. He still looked exhausted. Machiavelli considered putting off this entire thing for a night, to give them more time to recuperate, but he dismissed the idea almost as soon as it entered his mind. It was already November 20th, and they'd promised they'd be back by Thanksgiving, which was in three days… and that reminded him.

"Is your birthday coming up?"

Billy looked surprised. Rubbing his nose, he nodded. "The 23rd." He took the little notebook out of his pocket. "Hey, Mac, we're going to share a birthday. You'll be twenty sevenish, depending on how you look at things."

"It's not my actual birthday," Machiavelli argued, exiting the room and closing the door behind Billy. "We should focus on you."

"Nah, I'm excited to share it with you! What kind of cake are we going to get?" They continued to banter all the way along the hall and down the stairs.

"I haven't gotten you anything, though," Machiavelli said mournfully, knocking on the door.

"Don't need to get me anything," Billy said back and the door opened. "Hi Perenelle."

"Hello, dear," she said, beckoning them in. "I was just telling Scathach, at least we'll be searching much closer to our motel, tonight. It won't take as long to get there, or back again."

"How far away is it?"

"The place we're searching is about fifteen, twenty minutes at most down the road." She looked them over. "I see you dressed warmer," she added approvingly. "I took the liberty of packing some extra socks for all of us… that way we can change when we're in the car later, so we don't have to wait."

"Did you get any sleep?" Machiavelli asked her. She looked very wan indeed.

"A bit. Interacting with the spirits can be very tiring," she told him, so quietly that he didn't think the others heard. He nodded, having suspected as much. "This will be the last night we can search and then I will need to sleep for quite a while…"

"We'll have to make it count then," he said lightly. He looked over at where Billy and Scatty were talking on the couch. "I hope we find… something, anything, really…"

Perenelle nodded, following his gaze. "Me, too."

~MB~

It must have been the frustrations of the previous night, but they spoke very little this time as they made their way along the river bank. The landscape around them was mostly farmland- indeed, most of the land had been worked over so that only here, on the edge of the land and water, grew trees of considerable size.

"You grew up next to the river?" Machiavelli asked, shivering uncontrollably as they walked along, Perenelle up ahead interrogating spirits as they came across them. Billy and he hung back, not as enthusiastic as they had been before, and this was saying something because neither of them had been at all excited last night to talk to these fearsome beings.

"Yes, we lived in a little house by a river bend," the Kid told him, stopping and stretching his leg piteously. "My mother used to tell me that in the summer I would play in the shallow waters and Josie, he always tried to follow me in. But he was younger, see? And it caused her a great amount of anxiety cause she thought he would drown. She used to tell me stories when I was falling asleep…"

"What else did she tell you?" His breath was coloring the air, rising above him. He felt like even the insides of his nostrils were beginning to freeze.

Billy shrugged hopelessly. "We moved so often," he said despairingly. "I don't know what was Indiana stories and what happened in Kansas… She said," he continued, interrupting his own complaining and furrowing his brow, "that because of the problem of it all, I took to going in the opposite direction, through the field, you know, so that Josie wouldn't think I was going to the river. And then… I would double back around."

"So you lived somewhere where the river is shallow nearby," Machiavelli mused.

"Well, we know that it wasn't near here, then." They looked over at the river. Wide and rushing, the river cut into the landscape, so that they had to be careful not to fall down the steep embankment.

"It's narrowing though," Niccolo pointed out. "And there was a field… but that doesn't help much. There's fields all over the place…"

"And the landscape's probably changed in the last hundred years or so," Billy pointed out gloomily.

This was beginning to seem impossible. The outlaw had a point. Even the river might be different now than it was in the past. The banks would have been eroded over the years and beaver dams or manmade interventions could have changed its course entirely.

They'd searched all of Greenfield relatively quickly, without much result. Moving over a town and refusing to give up, they began to search the river banks of Philadelphia, Indiana, the irony not being lost on them that they'd come hundreds of miles to search a town that was named the exact same thing as the one they'd been living in.

Billy was getting quieter and quieter as the night progressed. Machiavelli was beginning to really worry about him. They hadn't made the amount of progress he'd been hoping they would. He was freezing, and, judging by Billy's limp, the Kid was suffering equally. It hadn't helped, he mused, that the Kid had stepped in a badger hole, nearly twisting his ankle.

Opening his mouth, he started to ask the outlaw how his leg was feeling, but a shout from farther ahead interrupted him entirely.

"Billy!"

Looking up, Billy broke into a sprint and behind him, Machiavelli followed closely. They'd let some distance gather between them and the female immortals; closing it, they found Perenelle and Scatty grouped next to several men in what seemed to be civil war uniforms. "What's up?" he asked Perenelle, panting. "What's wrong? Do they know where-?"

"No," she said immediately, and Machiavelli felt his heart sink. He knew from the look on Billy's face that, like him, he'd thought they'd found something this time. She stepped away from the ghostly group and Machiavelli followed closely after Billy, leaving Scatty alone with the three men. "But these men, they think they knew your father."

"My father?" Billy repeated blankly. "But I don't know my father. How could-?"

"I asked them if they knew of a Catherine McCarty from around their time because they're in civil war uniforms," she explained in a low, quick voice. "And they said they'd had a friend named Michael McCarty, whose wife was named Catherine."

"But I'm not even sure his name was Michael," Billy argued, looking dazed. "I never met him. He died when I was a baby."

"Oh, but Billy," she dragged him back over to where the soldiers were waiting for them. "Ask them a question. See what they know."

The Kid reluctantly stepped forward, his expression still largely nonplussed. The three men were conversing among themselves, glancing back at him; when he moved towards them, they stopped talking and waited, backs straight and arms down by their sides. "Hello?" he said nervously. "You think you knew my- my father?"

"We knew Michael," the oldest of the three said, speaking for all of them. He had a heavy Irish brogue. "He was our mate."

"But what makes you think he was my father?"

"How many Michael McCarty's do you think were wandering around with a wife, Catherine?" the man to Billy's right said, rather brusquely.

"Michael and Catherine are hardly unique Irish names," Billy snapped back, the stress of the past couple of days apparently raising his ire. Far from getting angry though, the three men laughed.

"Aye, that's true, but we know a bit more. Michael, he left a wee little lad behind. Just a year old or so, wasn't he? Carried a picture of the mother and the son in a locket he wore around his neck and he showed near everyone, he did."

Machiavelli was listening intently, struggling to translate the soldier's words into discernible English at the same pace the man was talking. "And what was his son's name?" he asked, breaking in.

"Called the lad Henry, din't he?" Consulting each other, they nodded.

Niccolo felt like his stomach had dropped down a couple of inches in pure surprise. Stepping up next to Billy, he put his hand on the Kid's shoulder, squeezing it hard. "Where is your friend? Couldn't we see him?"

"Fraid not," the first man said. "Followed his little woman, he did, when she moved away from here. Said they were going to Kansas next, he'd heard her talking. She was getting sick- what did she have Lieutenant Kilrain?" he asked his friend.

"Consumption," the last of them said softly. He shook his head gravely. "Too bad, it was. Michael used to read her letters aloud. Felt like we knew her. You look like Michael, you know."

Billy still seemed to be in shock. With some effort, he cleared his throat. He looked over at Niccolo helplessly. "So, you think you know my father, but you don't know where he is?"

"I told you, we think he's in Kansas. His wife was getting sick. She moved with her new husband. New baby. And Henry. He went too."

Billy was still mouthing wordlessly. Machiavelli stepped forward. "We should go now, William," he said softly. Looking over at the three soldiers, he thanked them. They nodded, their eyes on Billy. The sun was coming up over them all. Beams of light were beginning to slant down through the trees and it was getting harder to see the soldiers. Machiavelli looked at Perenelle and Scatty for help.

Scatty stepped forward. "Yeah, come on, kid." She took his other hand and pulled him back towards the direction they'd come from. "Let's get back to the hotel. It's been another long night."

Seeming to realize they were moving for the first time, Billy lurched forward. Scatty let go of his arm, rushing ahead to join Perenelle who was slowly picking her way through the brambles. Machiavelli saw the Shadow take Perenelle's arm. The Frenchwoman looked very tired now.

At the edge of the clearing, Billy came to a halt and looked behind them. Machiavelli turned too. The three soldiers had already disappeared. Giving a funny little nod, Billy let the Italian immortal continue leading him.


	67. Chapter 67

They'd hoped they would find something, had in fact found more than they had expected, and yet, Machiavelli reflected, none of them had expected it to be this. Scatty threw Billy concerned glances as he drove them home, but seemed to be reluctant to broach the subject first. Machiavelli too, was keenly aware of the stiffness in the Kid's posture, the way he said nothing as they sped on towards their motel rooms.

Perenelle, however, was not nearly as attuned to Billy, especially now as she seemed to have completely exhausted herself. Machiavelli had the suspicion that her aura had been used up significantly over the previous two nights and that it would be awhile before they could make another attempt in a different location. At any rate, they seemed to have successfully proven that the spirit of Billy's mother was not here in Indiana.

Machiavelli helped the Frenchwoman into her room, but Billy only gave a slight nod and some murmured words of thanks before he proceeded up the stairs to their room. Niccolo watched the slight frame of the youngest immortal disappear around a corner. He too, gave a cursory if slightly more attentive goodbye before leaving the two females.

By the time Machiavelli let himself into their room, Billy was flipping through the channels, looking for something to watch. Machiavelli had tried finding something the night before, but hadn't found anything that appealed to him and had since given up, but the American seemed determined to find something to watch now. He didn't look tired; he looked determined.

"Want to talk about it?" he asked the Kid.

The outlaw hesitated. "Not just yet," he said finally, still searching through the stations.

"Okay, caro. When you feel up to it." He dug through his bag for the book he'd packed- Oil, by Upton Sinclair- and settled on the couch. Reading his book, Machiavelli wasn't really paying much attention until certain noises caught his attention. "Is that…?" he trailed off, looking up.

"It is," Billy agreed, leaning forward as though to get a better look. "I would have thought that they'd have blocked this channel," he added vaguely, gaping at the television.

"Or at least, charged us extra to access this," Machiavelli murmured, watching two women pour oil on a man, who was lying face down.

"That's a lot of oil," Billy interrupted. "He's going to slide right off that fucking bed if they try to do anything…" Machiavelli gave him an incredulous look. "Well, he is," the Kid said defensively. And then a pause. "I'll find something else to watch…"

"That's up to you to decide. I'm taking a shower. I feel completely chilled down to the bone…" Tossing down his book, he fumbled around for his bag. "Personally, I don't want to be outside again for a long while."

"Yeah," Billy agreed, stretching in a rather catlike way. He slid down on the bed even more, stretching out his arms and legs in all directions. Machiavelli noticed that the Kid hadn't switched the channel yet and seemed to be watching the television with visible interest.

"Should I go ask for another room, William?" Machiavelli asked archly, taking out a pair of pajama bottoms and one of the sweatshirts he'd pilfered from the American immortal.

"What? Oh, cause of the… no, no, I'll find something else, just got to grab the remote," Billy said hastily, pulling himself across the bed on his stomach and consequently ruffling the bedspread.

"Oh, do what you will," Niccolo told him, gathering his change of clothes in his arms. Passing the other man, he spanked him on the ass, making Billy laugh slightly nervously and flip over. Gazing up at the other man, Billy stretched out his limbs, starfishing for something to do, apparently.

Muttering a retreat, Machiavelli made his way into the bathroom and leaned against the door, feeling that he'd made it away just in time. Close proximity with Billy combined with porn seemed to pose a serious threat to his resolve. Beginning to undress, he thought of the way Billy's legs had fallen open and he groaned, hurriedly turning on the shower to cover any residual noises coming from their bedroom as much as the noises that he couldn't help making now.

Dumping his slightly damp clothing into the hamper, he climbed in to the shower. He'd intended on taking a quick cold shower, but… running his fingers over the part of his leg which joined to his torso, he found he had different ideas of how he wanted to spend his time…

He was half disappointed, and a little surprised too, to find that when he got out of the shower a half hour later- the hot water had run out- the American immortal still had the television on the same channel. He'd hoped that he'd given them both sufficient time to work out their bodily pleasures, but... "Lose the remote?" he asked archly, raising an eyebrow as he shuffled past the bed.

Billy had the look of someone who was half asleep, half awake. He gave himself a little shake and looked up with a crooked smile fixed upon his features. "It's free porn, Mac, how could I turn down free porn? I think, that as a man, I'm morally obligated to consume a certain percentage…"

Niccolo, thinking of how he'd spent the last twenty-nine minutes, bit the inside of his cheek and said nothing. He picked up his book again instead, unable to look at the Kid, who'd hooked his fingers just slightly inside the elastic of his briefs. He tried too, to not pay attention to the noticeable bulge tenting the other man's underpants, but felt himself drawn like a moth to the flame, and almost against his will, he glanced up at the other immortal.

"What's the matter?" Billy asked, looking suddenly embarrassed, as he realized that he'd been at the center of the Italian's attention. He tilted his head, perhaps to decide if he'd done anything embarrassing while being watched.

"Nothing. I was just thinking about you," Machiavelli said softly.

"Thinking about how good looking I am?" Billy asked playfully. The Kid rolled onto his back, splaying out a leg suggestively.

For his part, the Italian immortal had to laugh. He shrugged. "I forget sometimes that there's so much around you, so much of… the legend, Billy the Kid. That you're not just my goofy friend."

"I'm just me," Billy said earnestly. "I'm nothing like the legend, afraid to say."

Machiavelli smiled at him, patting him on the head before getting up off the bed again. "I don't know if I'd go that far," he said gently. "Legends aren't without some basis of fact. The legend around you gets some of the bits of it- your compassion, your passion, your easy going nature… it just doesn't get all of it."

"To be fair, most of the historians who write about me aren't madly in love with me," Billy joked, grinning up at him. He waggled his eyebrows playfully at the word 'most', sweeping a hand through his hair so that it stuck up ridiculously.

Machiavelli scoffed and combed down his light brown bangs again, smoothing them off to the side. "I'm in love with you?" he asked, a jolt of excitement spreading through him despite his better instincts and he was careful to look dubious.

The Kid, on his part, looked momentarily pompous. "Everyone's in love with me. Do you mind if I keep watching this though?" Billy asked recklessly, gesturing to the television and leaning back to look over at the Italian immortal, his eyes bright and flashing.

Machiavelli himself was having trouble focusing on his book with the noises coming from the television, but also couldn't help watching it himself. "Sure, go ahead," he agreed mildly, tearing his eyes away finally to look back at the American. He held up his book. "I'm going to keep trying to read though."

"I'll turn it down," the Kid said hastily, dialing back on the volume until all that could be heard was the occasional squeak of the mattress and the breathy moans of the very buxom blonde who dominated the screen. Slouching down on the bed, he yanked the blankets up, having the decency at least to cover himself up.

In the next half hour, Machiavelli got maybe half way down the page he'd been working on. His concentration was further interrupted when he noticed that Billy's right hand was underneath the covers. The scathing review of the oil industry in the early twentieth century could hardly compete with his thoughts about what that hand might be doing.

Giving up entirely as the clock crept closer to three in the morning, he tossed the book on his bedside table- Billy gave a violent jump, surprised- and turned off his bedside lamp too so that the only lights in their room were the flashing colors coming off of the television and the dull bulb flickering on the Kid's side of the bed. He got up from the couch, wincing a little- his back ached from the uncomfortable springs- and he moved towards the bed, turning back the covers.

"Want me to turn it off?" Billy asked immediately.

"No," the tactician said shortly, throwing his pillow up against the headboard and sitting next to the American immortal. "You might as well turn it up."

"Did it distract you from your book?" Billy asked regretfully, nevertheless turning up the volume as indicated. "Sorry about that."

"Let's just say the two couldn't compete," Niccolo said drily. "Catch me up on the plot of this episode?" he added, giving the outlaw a sarcastic smile.

"Well, when last we left our protagonist," the Kid instantly quipped back, a smile digging at the corner of his lips, "she was just about to receive a college education…"

Machiavelli snorted loudly, rolling his eyes and muttered under his breath. He couldn't believe that they were sitting next to each other, watching a pornography- it was a little different from that time in the middle of the night when he'd found the Kid on the couch downstairs. They were sitting together, in bed now, and there was very little between the two of them… His mind wandered…

"I'll turn this off," Billy broke into his thoughts. "We'll need to be getting some sleep after all," he said loudly, scooting down in bed. "I want to head for home soon, next day or so. We have to get back for Thanksgiving. I promised Billie that we'd have a good meal this year."

"Right," Machiavelli agreed vaguely, angry at himself for being disappointed. "Yes, let me get comfortable in bed though, first, alright?" He sighed, settling down himself. "Why?" he asked suddenly, opening his eyes again. "Was there a time you had a bad meal?"

Billy snorted again. Machiavelli was glad that he was happier tonight than he had been the night before. "There was one Thanksgiving that went horribly wrong," he admitted, half murmuring into his pillow. "I'd agreed to make the meal myself, that was a mistake…"

"I'll help you cook this year," he offered. "I like cooking."

"Good," the other man said sleepily. "We'll have half a chance of a decent meal."

"When was this disastrous meal?"

"Back in 1963… You know Mac," Billy said after a few minutes. "I've been thinking of something lately." He glanced over sideways and seemed relieved to find that Machiavelli was focusing his attention on him. "It's been on my mind for a couple of weeks…"

"Oh, yeah?" Machiavelli asked mildly. "Thinking about that girl that you're in love with?"

"What girl?" the Kid asked, confused. "Oh, no, forget about what I said about that. That didn't go the way I'd- No, I was thinking about, well, the album you found last month."

The Italian immortal took a minute to respond. He hadn't figured on Billy ever mentioning that again and was rather surprised that he had, and voluntarily too. "I remember," he said cautiously. "What about it?"

"What'd you think when you found it?"

"What did I think?" he repeated blankly.

"Mac, quit repeating everything I say. I'm trying to have a conversation with you." He fumbled around for the light switch and, finding it, turned off the light so that with a little pop the entire room went dark.

"It was a bit of a shock," Machiavelli said finally.

"But Scatty said it made you sad. And I was remembering how funny you acted right after." Billy licked his lips nervously. "Why?"

"Why…?" The Italian immortal felt like his brain was malfunctioning. "I don't know. Why are we talking about this now William?" It's been over a month," he pointed out feebly.

"I've been thinking about it cause… cause I don't like you dating Jill- no, I know you're not really- but it makes me feel… funny. Do you know? And then I got to thinking that maybe that's why you didn't like finding the album. Cause maybe we have similar feelings…"

"I thought there was an awful lot of women in there," Machiavelli confessed, slowly processing the conversation.

"Well, I don't know about an awful lot," Billy said in surprise. "There was a fair few, I guess."

Part of what had bothered Machiavelli about the photo album was the number of girls in it. "What's a fair few to you, then?", he asked, scoffing. He'd counted fifteen girls in total, some with pages upon pages of pictures.

"I did tell you I was a member of the free love movement for a while there," Billy reminded him. "I've cooled down since."

"Billy? Can I ask you a question about the album?" Machiavelli felt that while they were on the subject, probably for the first and only time, he'd better clear up as many questions as he could.

The Kid nodded slightly, a crimson blush still spread across his cheeks. "Sure…?" He flicked through the album.

"Are there more albums like the one we're talking about?" Machiavelli, trying and failing to sound disinterested.

"No, just the one."

"Really?" Machiavelli lowered his voice. "Why make only one?'

Billy paused, making a face. "It was the sixties. I had just turned a hundred… and was having kind of the opposite of a midlife crisis… like it was a 'you-lived-too-long' crisis. The last girl in the album… She was a bit of a wake-up call. I wasn't prepared to get too deeply involved with anyone at that point."

Machiavelli felt like a load was lifted off him. Momentarily. He beamed at the Kid who grinned back at him. The outlaw bobbed his head back and forth, thinking about it. "We should be able to talk about things when we have to," he agreed at last. "We're like best friends."

"I thought Black Hawk was your best friend."

"Black Hawk and I are great friends," Billy agreed. "But I don't always confide in him about my feelings, the way I can with you."

Machiavelli felt his stomach lurch a little, feeling that he should just walk away. Not say anything. Let things remain the way they'd been for months now; protect his friendship and learn to get over the outlaw with time. He was surprised when Billy squeezed his hand. Closing his eyes, he knew in that moment that no matter what, he had fallen too deeply in love with the American to ever feel any other way.

Billy was still talking to him. "Make me a promise." He waited; Machiavelli nodded. "Promise me, we'll always be friends."

"Course we will," Machiavelli said, again sitting up in bed. He studied Billy, looking a little concerned at this point. "Really Billy, is something the matter?"

Billy held out a hand, wagging a finger slowly. "Yes. I just realized something at the beginning of the month. And," he hesitated. "One of these days I'd like to discuss it with you, properly. I'm just afraid of what will happen when I say it."

"You shouldn't ever be afraid to say anything to me," the Italian said sofly.

"I'll keep that in mind. But really, Mac, I think I'm just in a funny mood. Don't mind me."

"Are you thinking about your father?" Machiavelli asked, having to bring it up again despite his best efforts.

"A little," Billy admitted finally. "But it's weird… I never knew my father. I don't know him. So, I don't… I would have rather found my momma, to be honest."

They were quiet again for a few minutes, so quiet that Machiavelli was beginning to wonder if the outlaw had fallen asleep on him after all. He gave a little start when the Kid spoke again. "Mr. Machiavelli?"

Niccolo smiled softly, his forehead creasing. "Yes, Mr. Bonney?"

Billy laughed. "Making fun of me, Mac? I had a question."

"Only a little bit… what did you want to ask?"

The Kid ruffled his hair. "Nothing, never mind."

Machiavelli's flint gray eyes pierced the outlaw's, making him squirm, but holding his gaze. "What did you want to ask?"

"Do you think I'm lovable?"

The Italian blinked. He'd expected something with a little more gravity. "Of course you are, Billy. But that's not your real question, is it?"

"No… Well, I guess I'm just asking… do you love me?"

"Of course." Machiavelli ran his knuckles over the Kid's arm.

"But I mean… not just like you love Scatty or Perenelle. More than that." Sitting up again, he knelt beside Niccolo. "Do you really love me?"

Machiavelli couldn't figure out what the best way to respond would be; confused by the whirl of emotions that had come out of this night, he found that he didn't know what Billy's motives would be. He tried to redirect, in favor of giving himself more time to think. "What did you mean before? You're not in love with that girl anymore? The one you told me about…"

"I was never in love with any girl," Billy said softly and miserably. "That came out the wrong way."

Niccolo felt like there were fireworks going off in the pit of his stomach. There was a swooping sensation that reminded him of their flying lessons, back in Minnesota. "How'd you mean it?"

Billy was entirely silent. Machiavelli had the sense that if he could just keep quiet, the uncomfortable silence would be so unbearable for the American immortal that he would keep talking and Machiavelli could learn more about what the Kid thought. Still, the silence was double edged. "Would it make you happy?" he whispered. "If I said I did?"

Billy nodded. "Yes it would."

"I do love you more than anybody else. You were the first person to believe in me again. You make me better."

Billy curled up by his side, thinking things over. "Not just saying this cause you think I'm sad tonight, are you?"

"I wouldn't do that."

"No, you wouldn't," the Kid agreed. "Niccolo…"

"Try getting some sleep now," Machiavelli suggested. "You haven't had much chance to rest for days now." He could tell the younger immortal was beginning to fall asleep. He was exhausted too, but pure excitement kept him up. _Billy wants me to love him, wants me to love him more than the others. That must mean something…_


	68. Chapter 68

AN: Thank you Emma for pointing out the formatting was all wrong- don't know what happened there. Hope everyone is enjoying this fic. Cheers, Lilacs and Monarda

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Machiavelli felt like he'd just barely fallen asleep when he was being shaken awake again by the American. Indeed, when he checked his watch, he realized that he'd been asleep maybe five or six hours at most. "Billy?" he groaned.

"Sorry, Mac, but we've got to get home. It's Thanksgiving in two days! I couldn't stay in bed any longer... we've got to see if we can get the girls to leave."

Feeling rather crumpled, Machiavelli lay unmoving on his side, watching Billy pacing around the room. "I'll try to get up," he moaned at last, stretching his long legs and twisting onto his back. Despite what he said however, he lay there until Billy came over and leaned over him, looking expectant. "Sorry, sorry… I'm coming," he mumbled.

Wrapping his arms around the tactician's torso, Billy pulled him into a sitting position. "I'll get your shoes. I laid out a suit for you."

Machiavelli looked to his side. The outlaw actually had picked out a suit for him alright, light gray, and with a button down shirt and tie too. Pulling the outlaw's faded sweatshirt over his head and dropping it at his side, the Italian immortal got to his feet slowly. "Billy? What's with the sudden rush?"

Billy looked up; Machiavelli saw that close up, the Kid looked just as tired as he felt. He shuffled his feet. "Dunno… I just felt all restless. You can sleep in the car, Mac, I'll drive," he said pleadingly. "I just wanted to get home. I want to sleep in our own bed, you know? This one's not that comfortable… it's too small…"

"Okay," Machiavelli agreed, scrubbing at his face. He bent over to do up his socks and garters before stepping into his suit pants. Moving around him, and getting in his way slightly, Billy scooped up his nightclothes and squashed them into his bag. "Ready," Machiavelli told him a few minutes later, still blinking quite a bit and not really sure what was going on anymore.

"Good," Billy said, sounding relieved. "Hey, Mac," he added, grabbing both bags and leaving their room, "do you remember what we were talking about last night?"

The Italian didn't answer immediately. Taking measured steps down the rusty stairs leading to the first level, he considered his options. It was much harder to be honest in the bright early morning light. "I recall it," he admitted finally.

Billy looked both relieved and worried somehow at the same time. Leaning half against the door leading to Scatty and Perenelle's room, he cast an anxious glance over his companion. "I was just… a bit emotional last night. You don't have to worry about what I said."

"Billy, I was never worried about what you said. I do honestly love you very much," Niccolo said quietly.

A whole range of emotions crossed Billy's face, changing too fast for Niccolo to catch or understand them. "Good," he said finally. Then, with a slight turn, he knocked on the door.

A moment's pause. Then, "you're up early." Scatty blinked at them, pulling the door open and letting them in the room. "Perenelle," she called over her shoulder. "The boys are here!"

"How is everyone awake right now?" Machiavelli said, sitting heavily on their couch.

"Perenelle and I went to bed as soon as we got home," Scatty said, sitting beside him.

"You went to bed?"

"I get tired some times. Especially when we trek through the wet and cold of the countryside."

"Mac and I were up for a couple of hours, talking," Billy broke in.

"I only fell asleep at six," Machiavelli said, now leaning on the Shadow. He closed his eyes. He heard Billy shuffle his feet again and knew that the American immortal probably felt guilty. Normally, he would try to avoid making the other immortal feel bad, but right now he was too sleepy to think about the feelings of others, especially of the one who had woken him up so prematurely. Beside him, Scatty shoved his head not particularly gently off her shoulder and got up again. He felt the cushion fall a little without her there. Leaning his head back, he thought he might be able to fall asleep again if he tried.

"I'm a little anxious to get home," he heard the outlaw confess, presumably speaking to Perenelle or Scatty. "Are you feeling well enough to make an attempt?"

He had to open his eyes again; he couldn't listen to the conversation properly without also seeing the others. Scatty must have nodded or something because she didn't answer out loud. Perenelle had gone into the bathroom; the door was shut but he could hear the shower running. Billy chose to sit beside him, much closer than he had to be, and bounced his knee restlessly.

Trying something daring, Machiavelli took the other man's slightly smaller hand in his and tangled his fingers around Billy's. The Kid leaned on him. Niccolo bit back a smile. They looked up at Scatty who was giving them a questioning look but she gave them a little wave when she saw that they had noticed her and began to pack up her things.

It took them awhile to actually get going. They gave Perenelle the front seat again. Machiavelli thought privately that she didn't look up to traveling just yet, but she hadn't complained. He was crowded in with Scatty; he wondered vaguely how they'd managed to acquire more stuff in the few days that they were in Indiana- perhaps it was the dirty laundry or the hasty retreat, but there seemed to be more stuff jammed in around him.

The Frenchwoman fell asleep as they pulled out of the little town they'd been staying in. For miles, they said nothing. Occasionally, Billy would glance back through the rear view mirror and catch the Italian immortal's eye. This was always accompanied by an awkward, somewhat embarrassed grin which Machiavelli could only imagine he was reciprocating.

Perenelle woke up as they entered Ohio. Already, the sky had darkened to a deep cobalt blue. The blue hour was upon them. It was chilly in the car and she stretched and coughed slightly. "How are you feeling?" Billy asked her kindly, glancing over repeatedly as if he was trying to assess her.

"Alright," she said, but she shifted in her seat and Machiavelli could tell Billy wasn't convinced.

"Hungry?" he asked her.

There was a pause. "Yes, actually I am," she finally allowed.

"Scatty? Mac?"

"Let's stop somewhere," Machiavelli agreed. "Especially as we're passing through a big city right now. We might not have many options if we continue back into the countryside."

"Okay, I'll find a place." They ended up eating at a little pizza place on the main road, many families and young couples around them, talking loudly. Outside of the car, Machiavelli saw that Perenelle now looked distinctly sick. He was just debating mentioning this to the Kid when Billy beat him to it. "I think we should stop for the night," he said, watching Perenelle from his side of the table. "We made some progress and we can do the rest of it tomorrow, if we don't start out too late or make many stops. You need some actual rest," he said firmly, anticipating an argument. "I shouldn't have asked you to move this early."

"It would be nice to sleep in an actual bed," she agreed.

"Good. We'll eat something and then I'll find us a hotel. We'll stay somewhere nice tonight."

They all ate rather quickly. The Frenchwoman looked rather relieved when Billy got up to pay. He took her hand as they walked back to the car, and she looked quite pleased really when he opened her door for her. "You're a good gentleman," she told him, patting his cheek wearily.

"Why, thank you," he intoned with a wicked grin.

Scathach was looking down the road, hanging on to a sign post and leaning out to see farther. "There's an actual hotel chain down there," she told Billy, pointing. Joining her, he peered into the gloom. "There, see the sign?"

"Yeah, okay."

He booked them two double rooms. They crowded into the one intended for the females, Scatty and Machiavelli staying back while Billy settled the sorceress in for the night. "Are you alright Perry?" he asked her.

"Fine. I'm just going to need to rest for a while," Perenelle told him, sitting faintly on the edge of the bed.

Billy hovered in front of her, clearly worried. "What can I do to help you? You name it, I'll do anything."

This earned him a little smile from the Frenchwoman. Caressing his face, she smiled at him, then patted him on the shoulder. "Nothing, mon caille. I just need to sleep for a while. I was thinking the three of you should do something fun. It'll be hours before I get my strength back, I think."

"I didn't know that it would take so much out of you," Billy told her softly, ignoring her suggestion. "I wouldn't have asked if I'd known."

"William, it's not that big of a sacrifice. I'll be tired for a day and then I'll be okay again. Don't you worry about me for a minute," she said firmly. She waited; he nodded finally. "Bien. Now let me sleep." She lay down.

Ducking down, Billy kissed her cheek. "Thanks, Perenelle."

"I'm going to sleep on their couch tonight, so I don't wake you," Scatty said, her hand on the door. Perenelle nodded and they left her, pulling the door shut securely behind them. "We might as well watch a movie," she added, leading the two men down the hall. "There's a theater two blocks down."

"How could you possibly know that?" Billy asked, running to keep up with the two others who walked much faster than he did.

"I observe, Billy, something you might consider from time to time."

"I pay attention to what matters," he argued pleasantly, sliding into the elevator just before the doors shut. "Right, Mac?"

"Absolutely."

Scatty scowled. "Niccolo would agree with anything you say. You're his favorite."

"Is that so?" Billy asked, grinning up at the tall man.

"There are some things I wouldn't agree to. Especially if you said them."

"Like what?" the outlaw asked flirtatiously.

Machiavelli feigned deafness. Glancing at the sign announcing which movies were playing, he tried to find one that didn't involve a lot of high speed chases, wasn't intended for children, and didn't involve pandas. He didn't think he was setting very high standards, but he still didn't necessarily love the resulting selection.

"Let's see that one," Billy said, seeming to pick one at random. Dashing ahead, he bought three tickets and also an enormous bucket of popcorn. Watching him, Machiavelli almost wished he hadn't worn a suit today. He was sure that even if by some miracle Billy didn't end up spilling that vat of butter on him, they were hardly entering into the cleanliest of places.

It wasn't an awful movie, he reflected, but his thoughts were definitely not focused on the screen in front of him. The seats in the theater were tiny and cramped- they'd obviously been built long ago- and Billy had managed to convince him to prop his legs up on the seats in the row before them. This wasn't what was distracting him however; most of his attention was tied up around the close proximity of the outlaw. He was so close to Billy that he felt he could taste the man's aftershave instead of just smelling it.

Once, Billy had leaned over to whisper something in his ear about the plotline and his lips had brushed against Machiavelli's ear. The tactician had nodded, flushing horribly, and agreed without knowing what the Kid had said or, to be honest, what was going on in the movie. Thirty minutes later, he could still feel the thrill of the outlaw's warm breath on his skin. It was hardly helped by the fact that Billy seemed to be talking to him more than even what was usual, a steady stream of words said in a light tone. It was lucky, Machiavelli reflected, that there weren't very many people watching this film because someone would have surely complained by now and then Billy would have to stop. As on edge as the Kid's prolonged attention was making him, he wanted desperately for it to continue.

Scatty alone seemed to be watching the film.

When the movie was finally over, the night had spread out above them, white stars embroidered on a vast swatch of navy. "Americans do love their happy endings, don't they?" Machiavelli commented, linking arms with Scatty as they stepped out of the movie theater into a lightly falling snow.

"That's because we're a very optimistic group of people," Billy said enthusiastically. He dashed forward on the sidewalk and slid a little, grinning broadly.

"But in real life there aren't happy endings really, cause life doesn't just suddenly conclude when everyone's happy and the situation is perfect. Life's messy," Machiavelli countered, not sure why he was fighting Billy on this.

"No, but life doesn't end until you die and I think most American film producers want to leave things on a positive note without just fast forwarding to the part where everyone's dead."

"Of course, for us, life never ends," Scatty broke in. "Does that mean we're never going to get our happy endings, Billy?" she asked, also challenging him slightly.

"We're all going to be happy and it will never end," he said firmly. "We're just going to keep on being happy because we should be."

"Oh, Billy," the Italian immortal sighed, but he felt a surge of affection and love fill him up to the brim of his very being. They watched Billy scoop up snowballs, which he tossed at the lights. "Who wouldn't be happy, if they spent their life with you?" he called to the Kid, who looked at him with bright eyes.

"You really think that?" Turning, he tossed his scarf over his shoulder again, and slipped and slid his way back to their side.

The other two immortals stopped, Machiavelli reaching out to brace Billy in case the Kid began to fall. "Of course I think that." Billy's raw happiness took his breath away. It was almost too much for Machiavelli- he didn't see how the outlaw let so much of himself out for others to see.

The tactician's praise seemed to fill the younger man with a certain sense of bravado. Billy gave a little running start and slid across the slushy ice of the sidewalk, grinning madly. "You're going to fall," Machiavelli warned him, hanging back as he watched the younger immortal.

"Not," the Kid countered gleefully. Turning around to look at the Italian, a looking of dawning comprehension lit up his features.

"Don't you dare!" Machiavelli called, realizing what was on the outlaw's mind, but too late; turning gracefully, Billy pushed off, his legs churning madly for a minute before they gained traction. The next minute, he had launched himself at the Italian, who tried in vain to get away.

Hurtling into the taller man, Billy threw his arms around Machiavelli's shoulders, knocking him back into a large pile of snow. It took forever for them to fall back, Machiavelli thought, and yet there was no time to prevent what was happening. One moment, he'd been standing, minding his own business and then the next moment, he was lying, looking up at the stars and Scatty was laughing at him from where she'd ducked the outlaw's attack. "Oh, William," he mumbled.

Billy was laughing too now, his face buried in the Italian's chest. "Mac! You were right! I did fall a bit!" And snickering, he pushed himself to his feet. "It didn't end at all as I expected," he said, holding out a hand for the other man. "You were supposed to catch me."

"And how was I supposed to know that?" Machiavelli argued, not taking his hand, but continuing to lie in the snowbank.

Billy wrapped his arms around the tactician's slim waist and pulled him bodily to his feet, heaving slightly because of the differences in their statures. "I don't know, I just thought that you, our great strategist, would be able to throw off such an easily foreseeable attack."

"Here, Niccolo," Scatty said at last, catching her breath. "You have snow all down your back." She began to beat the snow off of his shoulders.

Billy was still grinning wildly. He offered a thoroughly insincere apology, reaching out a hand for the Italian and touching his arm. "Sorry, sorry," he said repeatedly, but he was laughing. Machiavelli tried to look stern, but his companions were both so happy, he couldn't say anything to change their mood. Shaking his head, he quirked an eyebrow at Billy as they began walking again.

Holding onto his arm, Billy walked beside him. Machiavelli felt electrified, as if a current was running down the Kid's arm and up his own. "Come on," he said at last. "Scatty might not feel the cold, but I certainly do."

Billy let go of the taller man and swept Scathach up in his arms. Despite her protests, he spun her in a circle. "I'm cold too. You're awfully lucky, Scatty."

"Put me down," she ordered. The Kid sat her down on her feet, but held her close. She let him do it for a full half minute before pushing away with a very cat-like manner. She gave him a small smile though. He slung one arm over her shoulder and slipped the other around Machiavelli's waist.

"I hope Perenelle's getting a lot of sleep," he said. "So we can finish going home tomorrow."

~MB~

It took them much of the day to get back to Philadelphia. The snow that had started the day before had picked up overnight, which was making it much more difficult to see the road. The Thunderbird was obviously not built to deal with snow of this quantity, and Machiavelli had the suspicion that Billy was more concerned for its welfare than their own. He was very glad that there was no one else on the road. They wouldn't have to worry about dying, but he felt that nearly everyone else should stay inside.

Perenelle suggested nearing two o'clock that they pull off and find a hotel room, but Billy was quite determined that they were going to make it back for the holiday. Machiavelli had sided with the American because he knew how much Billy wanted to have a proper Thanksgiving with all of their friends and Scatty abstained from choosing a side, thus they kept going, though Billy agreed to keep to the side roads.

It was a great relief to finally pull up in front of the Kid's brownstone. "Let's just leave the laundry for tomorrow," Machiavelli suggested, clambering out of the backseat and stumbling on legs that had been cramped in a confined space for too long.

"Sounds like a plan. Wonder if they're going to be waiting for us," Billy mumbled, climbing the front steps and fitting his key into the lock. He turned the doorknob and pushed through.

Machiavelli, just behind him, heard the clattering of nails on the wood floor and the next second, Billy was bowled over by their very excited Husky, laughing as the canine licked every part of his face. "Aw, puppy!" he said, pushing his way into the hall. The Pup danced around on his hind legs, resting his front paws -and thus most of his weight- on Billy's shoulders.

"We're back," Scatty called into the house, squeezing past both of them with one hand on Perenelle's arm.

"Hey," Black Hawk came out of the living room, beaming at the little group. "We expected you back a while ago. Did you find anything out?"

Billy didn't answer right away. He gave the Pup a few more kisses on the muzzle before pushing him down onto the ground. "Sort of. We didn't find her though. So all we really know is that she's not in Indiana."

Machiavelli thought it was strange that Billy said nothing about finding out about his father, but said nothing either, reserving that right to the American immortal. Scatty and Perenellle pushed past them, heading into the living room where he could hear Nicholas and Billie, but he stayed with Billy and Black Hawk.

"You okay, kid?"

"Just tired," Billy mumbled. He leaned against Machiavelli's shoulder. "So are you, aren't you?" he asked, looking up so that he could see the Italian's gray eyes.

"Terribly tired," he agreed.

"Going to bed?" Black Hawk asked, pulling Machiavelli away from the American immortal and towards the living room.

"Not yet. I want to see everyone."

Scatty was telling Nicholas about their trials and tribulations when the three male immortals came into the room. Billie Holiday was in the Kid's armchair but he dropped onto the loveseat without complaint. Looking tired, he curled onto his side, rather catlike.

Niccolo nodded to Nicholas and sat on Scatty's other side. He struggled not to yawn.

"Where's Sophie?" Scathach asked finally, and glancing around, Machiavelli noticed the girl's absence for the first time.

"Gone," Nicholas said carefully.

"Gone?" Billy said in disbelief. "Where'd she go? Tomorrow's Thanksgiving."

"I know but we didn't exactly have the chance to stop her. I woke up the morning after you had left for Indiana and there was a note by her empty bed. I don't think we've heard the last of her yet, though."

"I suppose…"


	69. Chapter 69

AN: Sorry for the delay! I've been working some extra hours lately. Hope everyone is pleased with this chapter- would love to know your response. Best, Lilacs and Monarda

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They made a fairly odd group, Machiavelli thought, glancing around their dinner table the next day; despite this, he felt inordinately fond of each person in the room, even Black Hawk who had shoved two breadsticks into his mouth to mime a walrus. He had earned a grin from Nicholas Flamel, who was sitting across from him, but Billie told him in no uncertain terms to cut it out and Perenelle was pretending not to notice.

Machiavelli was rather surprised to find that the jazz singer and the Frenchwoman had hit it off so well; due to her caustic nature, he had to admit to himself, he thought Billie was a bit of an acquired taste, someone whom you had to get acclimated to over a series of moments. Perhaps Lady Day liked Perenelle because neither woman was very touchy feely. _Yes,_ he decided, _Billie doesn't have to worry that Perenelle is going to invade her personal space or privacy._

Scatty was on Machiavelli's right, Nicholas's left. It had been she, Billy, and Niccolo who had gotten up early in the morning to begin putting together the meal. He smiled faintly, remembering that Billy had accused her of helping only to ensure there was enough vegetarian options and she had threatened to punch him. _Sometimes, they bickered like siblings,_ he thought privately.

Right now, Scatty was telling Nicholas about their nightly adventures of the past week. He listened in rapt silence as she told him about the soldier with the missing back of his skull and the woman who had been more afraid of them than they were of her. "But the last ones we met…" She glanced over at Billy.

Clearly the Kid had been listening because he nodded and said, very quietly, "We found some men who were in the same regiment as my father." He glanced over at the other side of the table, but the others were deep in a conversation about the American folk music period and didn't seem to be paying them any attention. "They told me that my father's spirit followed us when we moved. I don't know if he kept going though… But maybe he's with my mother?"

Nicholas nodded. "Perenelle told me this already," he confessed. "It would be exciting, wouldn't it, if you found your father? Have you ever met him?"

"No, not that I remember… He died when I was very young. My mother never spoke of him again."

"Perhaps it was painful for her," Machiavelli suggested.

"I think it was because of my stepfather. He was rather…"

Whatever Billy's stepfather was, they didn't find out. The outlaw didn't seem to have the words to describe the man; Machiavelli was left with the strong impression that his stepfather had been a fearsome presence in his early years.

"Where are you going to look next?" Nicholas asked, following the little silence.

Billy glanced quickly over at Perenelle. "Perry was pretty burnt out after this trip. Maybe we shouldn't continue…"

Nicholas looked over too, at his wife. She gave them a little wave. "She's already coming back from it. And I know she wants you to find her. I think she'd be insulted if you asked her to stop."

The Kid visibly struggled with it. "Kansas, I suppose," he said finally. "That's where we went next. I think she was happy there. We only left because she was getting sicker."

This wasn't exactly the happy conversation Machiavelli had hoped they would have. Patting Billy's knee under the table, he said, "What do people do on Thanksgiving beside eat?"

"Family arguments seem to be a fairly popular activity," the outlaw said, brightening.

"We could watch football," Black Hawk added, suddenly joining their conversation.

"Are there any other options?" Machiavelli asked desperately, making Billy laugh uproariously.

"Mostly you just sit around, waiting for the day to be over."

"Not me. I'm happy to be here," Billy said. His hand found Machiavelli's under the table. He gave it a little squeeze.

Nicholas captured the group as an audience for a long period of time, telling them a funny story about a Thanksgiving he and Perenelle had spent a long time ago, accidentally sharing a hotel with a clothing optional group. Machiavelli shook his head, covering his mouth to show some restraint, but Billy and Black Hawk were both guffawing. It made Machiavelli wish he could tell funny stories like the Achemyst did.

"What's the matter? You don't like the food? You've hardly eaten anything." Black Hawk asked Billy, suddenly focusing on the American immortal in the silence that had followed Nicholas's sotry.

"What? No, I do. I was just thinking of something else…" Letting go of the Italian's hand, Billy shoved an enormous forkful of stuffing in his mouth as if to prove that he was still hungry.

"I wish Sophie had stayed," Perenelle said, speaking to the full group at last.

"I asked her if she would. She said she was considering it. But the next day we found her bed empty… So apparently she made her choice."

"But you never said," Scatty pointed out, "where exactly she went. How do we know that something bad didn't happen to her?"

"Well, she left us a note. I'd forgotten. It's for both of us," Nicholas told Scatty. He held it for her. "She must be more comfortable around us just because she spent so much time with us this summer. It explains about what she's doing…"

Scatty took the note from him. She read it rapidly, eyes moving back and forth, following the line of text. Her mouth became a thin line. "Well… alright," she said finally, putting the letter in her pocket. "We'll respect her wishes this time."

Machiavelli wanted to know what the young woman had written, but felt that this was personal for Scathach and the Alchemyst. He contented himself therefore with sitting down next to the outlaw, who was eating his second piece of pie. Billy tapped him on the elbow to get his attention. "Want to take a walk with me? I think the Pup's getting a bit antsy."

"Yeah," Machiavelli agreed immediately. "We inviting anyone else?" he asked quietly.

The Kid thought about it. "No. No, just us, I think. There's something I've been wanting to do… and I'll lose my nerve if we have anyone with us."

Machiavelli didn't know exactly what the American immortal meant by that, but it made his insides squirm. "Okay," he said curiously. "I'm going to get my coat."

"Okay. I'll let the others know we're going out."

Breaking apart, Machiavelli made his way into the hall. The husky trotted after him, wagging his tail hopefully. He made a loud, yelping bark when the Italian immortal picked up his leash, dashing around in happy circles and making it very hard for the tall man to clip the leash on to his collar. "Hold still, puppy, or we're going nowhere," he muttered through his teeth. The dog finally sat down, though his tail was still making a syncopated thump thump thumping noise on the ground as it hit it back and forth. "There we go…"

"Are you excited?" Billy asked the dog, appearing out of nowhere. He spoke in a low croon, stroking the top of the canine Billy's head with rough motions. The Pup keened, sniffing the air with excitement.

"Here, hold this," Machiavelli said, holding out the leash. He got his coat down from the stand and did up the buttons carefully. He was sure it was getting cold by now outside. They slipped out into the nighttime.

"It's very pretty out right now, isn't it?" the outlaw pointed out happily, leading them down the street towards the park. "It's funny, Mac, cause if I had been alone I would have thought today was rather lonely, but I have you and the others and it's been a really good day today, hasn't it?" he continued, without letting the older immortal answer his first question.

"It's been a great day," Machiavelli agreed. "Even if you burned the biscuits," he teased and Billy flushed.

"I only burned half of the biscuits," he pointed out.

The Italian immortal laughed, rich and deep. "The top half, William, and the bottoms were somehow underdone. I don't know how you managed that." He beamed nonetheless at his companion, who was still struggling to defend himself.

"We had that big turkey in there, taking up all the space and the next thing I knew, they were just-"

"I'm only teasing you. It was a nice meal. Though in Italy, we serve eel on the holidays." Glancing sideways, he saw Billy make a disgusted face and he grinned again. "Maybe we won't continue that tradition," he said lightly.

"What do you want for Christmas?" the Kid asked suddenly.

"Billy, we haven't even finished this holiday."

"But I just realized- I only have a month left to do shopping for you. And for the others," he added, as though an afterthought.

"You've gotten me too much this year as it is. I don't want anything," Machiavelli argued.

They bumped shoulders, walking down the main path towards the gazebo in the middle of the park. Now and then, the Pup would stop, sniffing a lantern or bench intently. "You do realize," Billy said quietly in his ear, "that there is no way I'm not getting you something for Christmas. So, we can do this the hard or the easy way."

"How about a nice book and a pair of socks?" Machiavelli suggested, backing down in the face of Billy's ferocity.

"Just that?" Billy said doubtfully. "I don't know, Mac…"

Machiavelli realized with a start that they'd already made an entire circuit of the park once and were now half way through completing another round. "Billy, you said you had something you wanted to talk to me about…?"

"Oh. Oh, yeah." Billy had turned a pale color. _Maybe that's just the street lights though,_ the Italian thought. Billy cleared his throat. "Hey, Mac, let's stop for a bit here, okay? Sit for a few minutes."

"Here? But we're so close to home, Billy. Couldn't we do this somewhere warmer?"

"Yeah, but… It's pretty, right here, isn't it? Let's just look at it a minute." Looking around, Billy spotted a bench slowly filling with snow. He brushed the snow off the seat with his sleeve and turned to give Machiavelli a hopeful look.

"Okay. It is beautiful right now. Just cold too, you know?"

"I won't keep you very long."

The Italian sat down on the bench where Billy had cleared it and the Kid sat beside him. The Pup gave them a funny look before prancing off as far as his leash would allow him too. They could hear him chomping at snowflakes.

"Look up at the light, you can really see the snowflakes fall there." Machiavelli glanced at his companion. "Billy?" The Kid wasn't looking at the light he'd been pointing at; he'd been watching the Italian. "You're making me self-conscious, you know that? Is my tie askew?"

That made the American immortal crack up. "No, your tie is fine, Mac. You do know that most people don't focus on those kinds of details, don't you?"

"Yes, but I'm not most people."

"No, you're not," Billy agreed. He looked over at the light. "The snow falling is very nice, Mac, but it's not really why I'm keeping you out here in the cold. I was thinking-," he faltered a little, "thinking that last week I wasn't really ready yet to tell you why I've been acting funny."

"You know, you could have told me to fuck off. It's not really my business."

"But I didn't want to," Billy said earnestly. "I wanted to tell you the truth then, just like I wanted to last night, and today, and every day in between. But I got scared."

"So, you lied? You're not in love with someone?" Machiavelli felt his head spin a little.

Billy shook his head. "I didn't lie. I'm in love with someone. Somebody incredibly important to me." He ducked his head, brushing snowflakes off his hair. He glanced at the Italian quickly. "I think I loved you from the first moment I saw you."

At first, Machiavelli didn't understand. "From the first moment-?"

"Do you like me?" Billy blurted out. He began to babble. "I don't mean as a friend, I'm pretty sure we're good friends, aren't we? I mean…" He'd looked cold before, but now his face smarted with heat. "I mean, do you love me? Like, would you date someone like me?"

Machiavelli stood frozen. He didn't know what was the right thing to say and he felt like he was panicking. "I really like you," he said dumbly. Billy ducked his head and he realized that it sounded like he was trying to let down the other man easily, but still, he wasn't sure himself if he was letting the Kid down or reassuring him. "I love you," he said quietly.

Billy met his eyes. He looked shy, vulnerable. "Yeah?"

"Why- why are you asking? What's happening?"

"I just wanted to tell you. Cause you said that I should be honest with the person I was in love with… and that's you, so I thought I would try. But you know, it's okay," Billy spoke rapidly, "okay, if you don't feel the same. I just wanted to tell you that." He got to his feet. "Are you cold, Mac? We can head back for home."

"You're in love with me?" he asked slowly, not sure he had heard the outlaw correctly. Niccolo felt like the oxygen wasn't working properly in his body- his hands and feet felt like they'd disappeared ( _that could have been the cold_ , he mused)- it felt like he was floating six inches above the ground.

"Yes, and it's stupid, so let's keep going," Billy babbled. He whistled for the husky who was wrapped around a tree he'd been inspecting. The outlaw sighed and walked over to him, grabbing his collar and walking anti-clockwise seven times to release him from his tether.

"William, there's something you should know," Machiavelli called from his place on the path.

The Kid looked up wearily. "Oh, yeah, what?"

Machiavelli smiled with his whole body. "What you said- it's not stupid. I love you too."

Billy dropped the end of the leash; luckily, the Pup was relatively well trained because he didn't bolt. Instead he yipped around their feet, looking up at them excitedly, as if he too understood the enormousness of the moment. Grabbing it up again, the Kid half ran to stand in front of his Italian friend. He skidded to a halt in front of the taller man. "You love me too-?"

Machiavelli nodded, his eyes shining. "Always."

"Why- why didn't you tell me?"

"I just assumed that you wouldn't feel the same way…"

"You assumed- you thought- I wouldn't- what? You've liked me before this?" Billy asked weakly, his words jumbled up as he tried to process what was happening.

"I've liked you for a long time," Machiavelli admitted, very quietly. "Since September. And I thought you might like me too, for a moment… but then it seemed like you didn't. Do you remember what happened in the beginning of September?"

"We moved to Philadelphia…" Billy looked at his boots, mouth silently. Machiavelli could almost see the wheels turning in his head; he felt a flash of relief. There was one mystery finally put successfully to rest- Billy hadn't remembered what had happened that night after all. The tactician had always worried that he had remembered, but was sparing his feelings by ignoring it. "What happened in September?"

The Italian turned red. "Nothing, never mind. Well…" he added hastily because Billy was staring at him, "it happened right after we came to Philadelphia. Do you remember the night we went to that club?" he asked gently. "It was for my 18th birthday."

Billy rubbed at his temples. "Not much, he admitted at last. "I remember going obviously… But I don't usually drink as much as I did that night. Why, did I do something stupid?" He froze. "Did I do something to you?"

Machiavelli put up his hands, placating the other man. "Nothing that I didn't want to happen," he admitted. Billy furrowed his brow, looking concerned, and Machiavelli thought it best to get this part over quickly. "We, ah, we kissed. And, well… I liked it," he said, turning very pink. He felt like he was losing oxygen, or perhaps blood. "I liked it a lot..."

"We kissed back in September? And we both wanted it?"

"Yes. Yes," Machiavelli said, somewhat impatiently. "I was the one who initiated it."

"Did you?" Billy asked, cocking his head.

Machiavelli looked up at the streetlight, feeling embarrassed now. "Yes, I pushed you into a wall. Maybe that's why you don't remember it? Head trauma," he joked feebly.

"What did I do?"

"You were kissing me back." Machiavelli blushed. "We would have done more, but you fell asleep… that's probably for the best. I don't think we were prepared to deal with anything more than that at the moment…"

"I fell asleep?" Billy asked, visibly outraged. "But why didn't you mention it the next day?"

"The next morning, you didn't remember it… or I thought maybe you had but didn't feel the same way… So I never said anything about it…"

"So all this time, you've known you were in love with me and you didn't say anything because you thought I wasn't in love with you," Billy surmised shrewdly. "We could have started dating months ago…"

"You weren't in love with me then," Machiavelli pointed out, laughing.

"I didn't know I was in love with you," the Kid corrected him. "But when I figured it out- at the beginning of the month- I kind of realized that I've been feeling this way about you for a long time."

"Oh." Machiavelli didn't know what to say now. He was still quite surprised.

Billy pulled him to his feet. "Let's head back home now, Mac. It's pretty cold out here." They grabbed the dog and began to make their way out of the park. Billy was quiet, holding on to Machiavelli's arm. They were almost all the way out of the park when the Kid came to a sudden halt. Jerked to a stop, Machiavelli looked questioningly at the outlaw, who was standing under another street light. "Hey, wait, Mac. I just realized- you've kissed me more than I've kissed you."

"Jealous?"

"A bit." Grabbing his hand lightly, Billy pulled him back towards him and rested his hands upon Machiavelli's shoulders uncertainly. He paused a couple inches in front of the Italian's face, but Machiavelli nodded just slightly and he smiled, tilting his head to capture the other man's lips. "I love you. I love you," he repeated, falling back from where he'd been standing on his tip toes, and he beamed.

"Oh, caro. I adore you."

"So, do you just like me or would you date someone like me? More specifically, me?"

Machiavelli was having a hard time hearing over the roaring in his ears. "You want to date me?"

"Well, yeah, querido, it's not like I told you I loved you so that I could go explore Antarctica with a clean conscience. I want to be with you. I know we already share a bed, but I want to be able to kiss you before we fall asleep and when we wake up. Don't you want that, too?"

"I want all of that."

"So we're going to date?"

"Yes, it seems that way, doesn't it?" Machiavelli smiled at the other man. "I'm just really, really surprised about all of this William. I didn't think you would ever love me the same way."

"Mac…?" Billy asked as they walked down the sidewalk towards the brownstone. "Are we going to tell the others right away?"

Machiavelli glanced to his right. "No, not just yet," he said, interpreting the look on Billy's face. "Not tonight, at least."

"Good. Not that I'm ashamed of you or anything," he added quickly. "It's just- well, it's just a surprise, isn't it? Even for us. And I don't know how Black Hawk's going to take it," he said under his breath. "He's my best friend, but I've never been this way before."

"We won't tell anyone until you're ready."

They sat apart, Billy in his armchair, Machiavelli resuming his place on the couch. Billy was beaming; when Black Hawk asked what it was that he was so happy about, he made up a story about hitting Machiavelli with a snowball. The Italian did his best to feign indignation, but he couldn't help sneaking looks with the other immortal long after the others had lost interest in them.

"I'm still tired," Billy said finally, getting up from his armchair. "All the driving. I'm going to go to bed, I think."

"That makes sense," Nicholas agreed.

"Night, Bill." Black Hawk patted him on the leg as he passed.

Machiavelli wanted to go after him, but thought it would look suspicious. He ran his hand over Scatty's arm. She glanced over at him; he smiled, wanting to tell her about what had happened out at the park, but also wanting to be upstairs.

"You look tired too," she told him.

"I'm pretty tired," he lied, speaking clearly so that he would be overheard.

"You should go to bed," she suggested. "Like Billy." There was something in her eyes that said she suspected what they weren't telling her. He leapt at the suggestion. Kissing her, he tried not to look over excited as he said his goodbyes to the others.

He wasn't sure if the Kid would be asleep when he got up to the room. Maybe Billy was actually tired and had gone to bed. He'd gotten the impression that the other man wanted him to follow, but maybe he'd been wrong…

He pushed the door open quietly.

Billy was lying in bed, reading his book. He'd changed into a pair of sweatpants and nothing else, grinned when the other man crossed the threshold of the room, and tossed the book aside, onto the floor, with a loud bang that Machiavelli was sure the others would hear. "I thought you would never come up."


	70. Chapter 70

AN: Thanks for all the kind reviews. I'm glad people are enjoying the change in scenery, lol. I know the pace of the story is slow, but for me, I have always taken a long time to fall in love and as I model Machiavelli after my own personality, he's had to endure the slow burn. As always, I'm open to your suggestions! Best, Lilacs and Monarda

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Machiavelli checked his watch. "It's been five minutes," he argued, beaming at the other man. "I wanted to give it a few minutes so it wouldn't look suspicious. You don't want Black Hawk finding out, remember?"

"Oh, yeah." Climbing across the bed, Billy leaned against him, putting more and more weight on the Italian immortal until he had to wrap his arms around the Kid's slender frame to keep from dropping him. "Yeah, I've got to figure out how we're going to work that," he mumbled vaguely, but he didn't seem very interested in the topic, at least not at this present moment. Running a hand through Machiavelli's thick hair, he said, "Have I told you how handsome you are with your dark hair?"

"No." And then because he couldn't help himself, "you didn't like me with my white hair?"

"I've liked you from the start," Billy said, sitting down on their bed and bouncing a little. "White hair and all. I like everything about you."

"No pressure," Machiavelli quipped.

"No, not at all," Billy agreed, laughing at him. He yawned, and fell sideways. "I am tired, though, Mac," he told him in a muffled voice.

"Yes, well we do need to go to bed." Beginning to empty his pockets, Machiavelli wondered how he was going to get dressed tonight. He wasn't sure what the boundaries of their new relationship were, exactly. Just when he began to think that perhaps we would go change in the bathroom as he normally did, the outlaw slipped off the bed and came over to him.

"Let me help," he said, beginning to loosen the Italian immortal's tie. "Don't worry," he added. "I'll go slow."

Machiavelli wasn't sure Billy knew the meaning of the word slow. After months of total uncertainty, suddenly he was standing in their shared bedroom and Billy was undoing the buttons of his shirt. He himself undid his belt and the zipper on his pants which let the younger man pull his shirt tails out and consequently, slip the shirt off over his shoulders and drop it down to the ground. _Yes, they were still moving too fast_ , he decided. "Billy, I'm- I'm still not ready to- you know," he stammered.

"I know," Billy agreed. "Just helping you get undressed. No more or less. I like touching you." He flashed another of his wide smiles at Niccolo, who felt a lurch of nerves, and leaning in, captured his lips in another kiss, much more passionate than the tender one they'd shared under the street lamp.

"Billy?" Niccolo said, in a rather husky voice. He coughed into his elbow, trying to clear his voice. "Why do you taste like cinnamon?"

The outlaw blushed a little. "I've eaten a lot of apple pie?"

Machiavelli snorted. "Oh, William…"

"Say that again, but lower and longer," the outlaw told him with a smirk. He pushed the Italian's suit pants down and hooked a few fingers under the elastic of Niccolo's boxers. Bending just slightly, he kissed the pendant around Machiavelli's neck.

Niccolo ran a hand through Billy's hair, tangling his fingers in the Kid's locks. His other hand slipped into the back pocket on his sweatpants. It reminded him of the time in September. Pressing forward, he pushed Billy back onto the bed. The outlaw let him do it, lying down and pulling his body backwards. Niccolo yanked the blankets out from under him and climbed into bed. "Was this all just a cheap ploy to get into bed?" Billy asked him sleepily.

"Kind of. You're falling asleep too. I guess I can't be that exciting."

"It's very exciting," Billy mumbled. "I'm just very tired too."

"That's the problem with you, you're always falling asleep in the middle of me ravishing you," Machiavelli complained.

"Like you apparently did in September?" Billy asked, sleepily watching him. "I can't believe I fell asleep."

"I know. A couple more times like this and I'm going to start developing a complex."

"Hmm." Billy moved over onto his side of the bed, still watching the older immortal. "Okay, so you kissed me back in September and in front of the bookstore. Do you remember," he licked his lips nervously. "Do you remember me kissing you?"

"Outside of those two times?" Machiavelli asked, raising his head off the pillow to look at- his stomach squirmed pleasurably at the thought- his boyfriend. "No, I mean I remember the one in front of the bookstore, Scatty told me about it… She didn't tell me about any other time though.

It was Billy's turn to duck away. "Well, it was the same night as the one in front of the bookstore. You put the idea in my head, I guess. I kissed you on the steps, that night we walked back from the bar. We should go to bars more often, Mac. Apparently, it gets us in the mood."

"But you kissed me?" Machiavelli cut in. "Why didn't Scatty say anything about it?"

"She didn't know… Cause I didn't tell anyone about that." He stretched, yawning. Looking up, he gave a tiny grin, still unsure of himself. "I couldn't help it. You look beautiful in moonlight." His eyes crinkled as he smiled.

"Yes, I do have a certain 'je ne sais qua'," Machiavelli said smoothly. "I won't really believe this is real until I hear you say you love me in the harsh light of day."

Billy laughed. Scooting forward, he wrapped his arms around the Italian's torso. "I'll try to remember that. G'night."

"Buonasera, caro. Te amo."

~MB~

When Machiavelli woke up the next morning, Billy was pressed against him, his head tucked in the crook of the tactician's neck and a hand slipped under his shorts so that it was cupping his ass. He felt self-conscious about it, but electrified. Taking deep, steady breaths, he looked down on the Kid, taking note of the various landmarks and imperfections.

His sweatpants were riding low on his hips, the beginning of his crack showing. Touching Billy's hip lightly, Machiavelli couldn't believe this was reality and that last night hadn't all been a dream. Running his hand over the other man's chest, he could feel the ribs under the muscle.

Billy was stirring. Arching his back like a cat, he clung to Machiavelli even tighter. Machiavelli couldn't help but let out a little squeak. "Mm, Mac."

"Are you enjoying yourself Billy?"

"Just warming my hands," he murmured. Leaning back, he grinned in a goofy, bemused manner, gave him one last squeeze and rolled over. Machiavelli shoved him back onto his side of the bed, but wrapped an arm around his waist. He didn't want to get up. Getting up meant figuring out what everything meant and what they were going to say to the others. Billy was warm and soft and comfortable. "What are you thinking about?" the outlaw asked suddenly, startling him out of his thoughts.

"I'm thinking that I don't want to get out of bed."

"Oh, yeah?" Billy said, sounding interested.

"I didn't quite have that in mind," he backpedaled immediately. "Not that I'm not- not that I don't- Why? Do you want...? Now?" he asked weakly.

Billy sat up, leaning on his haunches over the taller man. "Well, we are dressed for it," he said mischievously. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. I'm only teasing you, Mac. Oh, this is going to be fun, querido."

"You're going to be the death of me," Machiavelli said weakly.

"Nah. I've got to pee though." He could have gone around, but instead he climbed over the Italian who groaned. "I'll be back! Don't go anywhere!"

Machiavelli had no intention of leaving his bed. He sank onto his back, listening to the quiet house. He could hear the snap of the bathroom door as it shut and, listening even closer, heard the clatter of the toilet seat being pushed up. Someone was moving around below them. He listened hard, trying to figure out who it was but gave up. The footsteps were soft- it could be any of them.

He heard Billy coming back. The Kid had pulled his pants back up, which Niccolo found slightly disappointing. "How long do you think we can stay in bed before they get suspicious?" he asked the Italian.

"Maybe another hour," Machiavelli whispered back, glancing at the clock on the wall. "If we're quiet," he added meaningfully.

"I can be quiet," Billy whispered. "Do you really love me, Mac? Really?"

"Yeah. Yes, of course I do. I never thought... never thought you'd feel the same way though."

"Know what you mean." Crawling in beside Machiavelli, Billy bent to kiss him. "Oompfh. Sorry, honey." They'd banged noses.

Machiavelli was laughing. "My fault. I was trying to make it easier for you."

"Make it easier for me to push your nose out through the other side?" he suggested. "I'm going to hold your face now. Make sure you don't move on me again."

The problem with this, they soon figured out, was that Billy had no way of balancing when he took his weight off both of his hands. He lurched forward, and Machiavelli snorted in what he was sure was the most undignified way that Billy had ever heard from him. "We're going to have to soundproof this room if you keep laughing like that," he told the Italian immortal. "We were doing alright last night."

"Maybe because it was dark and we couldn't see each other to screw it all up," Machiavelli suggested innocently.

"You were the one who told me to be quiet and now you're laughing the most," the Kid said accusingly. "Close your eyes."

"What are you going to do to me?"

"You'll find out if you close them."

Machiavelli closed one eye, then reluctantly, the other. He felt the Kid throw a leg over him so that he was straddling his body- every instinct within him wanted to open his eyes, but he resisted- and then Billy's lips were on his.

They kept it up for some time. _Billy must have thought I was going to be more passive_ , Machiavelli decided, assessing the situation despite himself. But he had never been a submissive lover and he wasn't about to start right now. He'd given Billy all of five minutes to kiss him before he flipped the situation, figuratively and literally.

It was only when they heard the rest of the occupants of the house beginning to truly move around that they gave it up, at least temporarily. Rolling out of bed, Machiavelli picked out a shirt and suit combination, while Billy lay in bed, looking very bemused but happy. "Stop that," he told the American, who had slipped a hand under his sweatpants and seemed to be jerking himself off. "We're never going to pull off this charade if you come down hard enough to poke someone's eye out."

"You could take care of my pocket rocket," the outlaw suggested lazily.

"I think not. See you down there." He flashed a smile at the Kid. Opening the door, he saw the muscular form of the Pup run past him, into the room. "Good luck!"

They'd 'slept through' breakfast and were quickly approaching lunchtime. Billy came down shortly after him, sitting next to him at the table. He glanced over at the jazz singer. "Did you end up staying the night?"

"Nah, we headed back to my apartment around 1. Scatty and Nick kept us company for a while though; Mrs. Flamel went to bed shortly after you."

"Is Black Hawk still at the apartment?"

She shook her head. "No, he's out and about. It's Black Friday, you know."

"Black Hawk doesn't go shopping for those ridiculous deals, does he?" Machiavelli said in surprise.

Billy was tapping his cutlery energetically on the table, beating out a Phil Collins song, though the Italian couldn't remember which one it was. He looked up. "Nah, I think he just thrives on the chaos."

"We're going to go out after lunch though, just to get away for a bit," Billie told them. "Want to come?"

The outlaw looked over at Machiavelli. Noticing this, the Italian immortal shook his head ever so slightly. He didn't want to. "Nah," Billy said happily. "No, I think I want to get some more rest this afternoon. But maybe we could do dinner somewhere, tonight."

"I planned on reading my book this afternoon," Machiavelli said, trying to sound offhand.

Scatty was definitely looking at them suspiciously now, but she nodded and left with the others. Machiavelli knew that they should tell her soon, but for now he was too elated at finding himself alone with the American immortal to think about anybody or anything else.

There was something comfortable about knowing that while the rest of the city rushed around them in one grand commercial swoop, in the center of it all, they were happy alone in each other's company.

"Come here," Billy cajoled, having watched the others make their way down the road. "God only knows how long we've got before one of them comes back." Crooking a finger at Niccolo, he enticed him over to the couch.

"You know what we forgot yesterday," Machiavelli murmured, coming closer to him. "We forgot to celebrate your birthday."

Billy huffed. "As far as I'm concerned, I got the best birthday present ever." He raised his eyebrows at the Italian, making the taller immortal laugh. "Give me a kiss."

"We're getting better at this," Machiavelli commented, his lips vibrating over Billy's.

"We'd do even better if someone didn't keep talking through each and every one," the outlaw shot back at him.

"I just have trouble-," Machiavelli caught Billy's lower lip between his, "-stopping my brain entirely. Because I was thinking that we should celebrate-," he moaned, "your birthday properly."

"Sure, Mac," Billy told him impatiently. He pushed him onto the couch and climbed over him, grinning at him saucily. "I've got some ideas on how I'd like to do that."

"I'm serious-."

"Oh, believe me querido, so am I. So am I." Machiavelli had to laugh at this; above him, Billy grinned in embarrassment. "Okay, Mac. Tell me your grand plans that are going to outdo my wildest fantasies."

The Italian shook his head. "Too much pressure."

"Sorry." He didn't look sorry though. Propping himself up on Machiavelli's chest, he gazed down at the Italian with open interest. "I'd be happy doing anything with you."

"Ah, well that does open things up more," Niccolo said with some relief. He ran his hands over Billy's backside experimentally. The Kid didn't object, so he squeezed the back of the immortal's thighs, touching him everywhere he could reach. "I'll- I'll text Scatty later, tell her to pick up a cake for after dinner."

"Chocolate?" Billy asked him hopefully. Sliding off him, he wrapped an arm around Machiavelli's torso, lying next to him on the couch.

"Sure."

"Does what we do make us homosexual?" Machiavelli asked curiously, wrapping an arm around Billy's waist. The word felt strangely heavy on his tongue, knowing that it might refer to himself. He had never thought of himself that way.

"Let's just say, it doesn't hide it."

"Ah, but I'm serious."

Billy shrugged, his shoulder pushing slightly against the Italian's close form. "I, uh, try not to think about it too much, Mac." He angled his face away from the other immortal so that Machiavelli couldn't quite make out his expression.

Machiavelli propped himself up now. "There's nothing wrong with it," he said, sounding rather stern. He softened his voice. "I mean, homosexuality has existed for as long as heterosexuality. I was just wondering if I've changed or if I've always been this person."

The American immortal shrugged again. Machiavelli was beginning to wonder if that was all he was going to do during this conversation, but Billy surprised him by talking first. "I suppose it wouldn't be the worst thing to be gay. It's just I've never put a label on myself before and," he paused, "I don't really like labels. I guess what we do might make me gay, but all I know is…"

"What?" Machiavelli asked when it didn't seem like Billy was going to continue.

Billy turned his head so they were looking at each other. "I just like being with you. It feels like something real. I haven't felt that way in a long time. Maybe ever."

The Italian let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding in. He gave a weak chuckle and kissed Billy tenderly before lying down again. "Good. I feel that way too. I guess we're just going to have to figure things out as they come along." Billy hemmed his agreement. They both lay in the quiet, Machiavelli absently interlacing their fingers. "But what are we going to tell the others if they ask?" he asked finally. "When we finally do tell them…"

"I don't know," Billy said quietly. "I guess…" He trailed off and Machiavelli waited. Billy snuggled closer to the tactician. "I guess I'd just say that I love you more than I've ever loved anybody. They're our friends. That should be enough."

Georgette chose to jump up between them then, climbing into the small space made between them; she began to purr loudly, kneading the couch before lying down.

"Guess we're keeping things pc for a little longer," Billy laughed. "Want me to read to you?"

Machiavelli nodded, watching the younger immortal. "That would be nice," he agreed, with a shy smile.

"Let's see. Can't disturb the cat," Billy mumbled. Reaching around them, he fumbled for one of the books on the nearby table. "Can't disturb the baby," he said, louder, lifting his head to blow kisses at the feline. "Okay, Mac, I'll read you the very romantic… Oil? What is this Mac?"

"It's an expose piece on the oil industry in turn of the century…"

"Not that book," Billy decided, cutting him off. "There's got to be something better." Fumbling, he grabbed two of the other books that were stacked on the table. "Okay, come on," he complained. "Who the fuck is reading 'Birds of New England'?"

"What's the other book?"

Billy turned it over in his hands. He laughed, a funny squawk. "Sorry, sorry," he said hastily. "But this is the least romantic out of all of them. 'Then End of Alice.' Have you read it?" Machiavelli shook his head, wonderingly. "Okay, then. I'll read you this one."


	71. Chapter 71

AN: Sorry for the wait! I kept trying to split this into two chapters but it really felt like it should all go together. So it's a bit long which is good because it'll have to count as last week's and this week's submission. I have to work some overtime... Hope you like it! Feel free to submit reviews. I look forward to your constructive feedback.

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"Does what we do make us seem gay, you think, Mac?"

After having read half of the book they had put it aside. They were now lying on the couch, Billy's leg thrown over Machiavelli's left leg so that they were tangled together. Niccolo considered Billy's question thoughtfully. "It certainly doesn't hide it," he said finally. "Why, you don't want to be gay?"

The Kid shrugged, making a face. "I don't know. It's just a shift, isn't it? I never thought of myself that way…"

"I have nothing against it," Machiavelli told him. "Gender is such a silly thing to worry about when you have someone you love."

"I know that. I just want to figure out where I stand before I tell anyone else. Does that bother you?"

"No, I don't expect you to know everything, all at once."

"Good." Billy wrapped his arm around Machiavelli's middle. "It's not that I'm ashamed of you or anything…"

"I know that," Machiavelli whispered.

"Are you comfortable like this? I'm not crushing you?"

"Of course not. You're like, a hundred something pounds," Machiavelli pointed out. "Billy? We are going to tell Scatty though, aren't we?"

The Kid paused. "Yeah, I think that's safe. Try getting her alone these day though." Scatty did seem to be consistently engaged these days, always accompanied by either Nicholas or Perenelle Flamel. Machiavelli knew that Billy didn't want to tell a lot of people, but felt that the Flamels of all people wouldn't judge them, being fairly strange themselves.

"It might be that she already knows," he pointed out. "She's quick like that. And she already knows that we both like each other. Apparently."

"I can't believe she didn't tell either of us," Billy said grumpily.

"Well, I made her promise that she wouldn't say anything to anyone," Machiavelli pointed out fairly. "So did you. And now we know that she kept her promise; in fact, she did a very good job."

"I guess this does explain why she's been so mad at us. We've been frustrating her," Billy surmised with a smirk. "She's known about both of us, but couldn't say anything to either."

"We better tell her soon," Machiavelli said imploringly. "Can you imagine how she'd flip shit if we wait a month to tell her. After we've both been confiding in her?"

"I love it when you use slang," Billy told him, kissing his cheek. Machiavelli hoped he never lost the swooping feeling he got whenever the Kid touched him. "We'll tell her as soon as we can get her alone. Together, right?"

"Of course. It's the only way we'll come out alive," Machiavelli figured.

They both jumped, hearing the front door being unlocked. Sitting up, Billy threw himself to the other end of the couch, and Machiavelli scooted, rather regretfully, more onto his side. He tossed the book to the outlaw, who caught it deftly, and opening it to the page they'd left off on, began to read it aloud again.

"Hey," Black Hawk called, bounding in. He squinted at them disbelievingly. "You guys been reading this whole time?"

"Nah, we've done other stuff. But we're tired man," Billy protested, setting the book aside. "We just spent the last week traveling and walking and foraging…"

"Yeah, right, foraging." The Native American snorted. "Hey, handsome, why do you look so rumpled?" he asked Niccolo.

Machiavelli stood up. "Do I? I was lying down for a little bit…" He began to fuss over his clothes, making the darker skinned immortal laugh.

"Don't listen to him, you look fine," Billie told him, coming into the room. "Mm hm, fine is the word." She pinched him on his backside, making him jump a little. Both Billy and Black Hawk were laughing at him now; Machiavelli took offense at this- both of them should have been a lot more offended on his behalf than they were.

"I'm going to change," he decided.

"No, no, you look wonderful. Black Hawk's a jerk," Billy said cajolingly.

"I beg your pardon," the brawny man barked.

"Besides, I'm hungry," the Kid begged, ignoring Black Hawk's objections. He looked over his shoulder, into the front hallway. "Where are the others?"

"The Flamels are going to ride over with Scatty and me," Black Hawk explained, sounding bored, "and Billie's going to go with you, so they stayed in the Jeep."

"Not that I'm not pleased to have you with us, but why are you coming with us and not your boyfriend?" Machiavelli's Billy asked the other.

"We picked a place to go and I'm going to show you how to get there."

"Oh, alright. Well, we'll meet you at the place then, Black Hawk," Billy called, disappearing upstairs for something.

"Wait, Billy, what are you doing?" Black Hawk called up the stairs, but there was no answer. "I thought you were hungry!" he shouted after him, before wheeling around to look at the others. Machiavelli shrugged at the Native American immortal, who sighed impatiently. He gave the two remaining immortals a half wave and turning, made his way out.

"What's he getting?" the jazz singer asked Machiavelli.

"Not a clue. Maybe a coat?" he suggested.

It wasn't remotely clear what the American immortal had been looking for because when he came back, he looked the same. "Sorry! Ready to go, though?" he grabbed his leather jacket off the back of his armchair and stepped into his boots, tugging on the tops of them to get his foot in easily. Flashing a smile at them both, he charged down the stairs to the garage. Machiavelli gestured for her to go first, then followed her down. In the kitchen, he put down a can of food for the pets before climbing into the Thunderbird.

~MB~

For safety's sake, Machiavelli had planned on sitting across the table from Billy, but when they got to the restaurant, Perenelle insisted on both the 'birthday boys' sitting together at the head of the table and, feeling Billy hold his hand under the table, he couldn't complain about the seating arrangement.

Machiavelli was, for once, struggling to keep his composure. He wanted very much to tell someone about what had happened, but looking around their crowded table, he knew he wasn't going to get a chance to be selective. He would have to tell everyone or no one and he knew which Billy would prefer. The Kid's hand squeezed his; it was rather as though he had read Niccolo's thoughts. More to give himself something to do, he took a sip of the water that had been set out at their table and looked around the restaurant they'd chosen.

It was crowded but elegant somehow. Tapestries, smaragdine in coloring, covered faded brick walls and were matched with framed pictures of what he assumed must have been the owner of the restaurant; some of these pictures were very old because there was a definite progression of age- black and white photographs showed a young man, sitting at bars and in front of a little house. These were interrupted by gaudy photos of a wedding which looked like it had taken place in the early 1980s, to judge by the hairstyles and colors. He took another sip of water, trying to calm his nerves.

"We should get you a lady for your birthday," Billie said decisively. Hearing this, Machiavelli coughed, spluttering water all over poor Scatty, who was sitting to his right.

"Sorry," he told her, but she waved him off, wiping her arm with her napkin.

"Honestly, Billie, you're incorrigible," Perenelle told her with a little laugh.

"Me or Mac?" the outlaw asked, breaking in. His hand was now exploring the inside of Machiavelli's thigh; the Italian immortal felt rather light headed, especially when the outlaw gave him a little rub. Billy sounded amused. Machiavelli was sincerely wishing that he hadn't worn his closely tailored suit as he could have used some extra wiggle room.

"Either of you. Maybe you could share her," she suggested.

"How frugal," Machiavelli said in a funny voice. He'd been attempting his normal sardonic voice, but there was a breathier edge to it than usual and it was because of this perhaps, that they all looked at him in surprise. He coughed into his arm, turning slightly pink.

"Coming down with a cold, Mac?" Billy asked playfully. He was still massaging the tactician's thigh with his thumb.

"Maybe I'm just overwhelmed by your presence," Machiavelli quipped back and he was pleased that his voice had resumed its normal matter of fact tone.

Billy grinned at him. Putting both of his hands behind his head, he stretched backwards. "Why would I want another woman, when I have you three beautiful ladies?" he asked the jazz singer.

"Suck up," Black Hawk told him.

The outlaw wrapped his arms around the Native American's shoulders. "Why would I want another person when I have little old you?" he crooned in Black Hawk's ear, laughing when the other man pushed him away. "What about you?" he said playfully to Niccolo.

"I'm too old for you," Machiavelli shot back warningly.

Billy opened his mouth to argue, but seemed to think better of it. "That's not true," he said finally, patting the tactician on the back. "Besides, we're much closer in age right now," he added, waggling his eyebrows.

"I wonder if our waitress is ever going to come back?" Black Hawk said, who seemed to have lost interest in the conversation. He peered around the room, seeming to hope to summon her from wherever she'd gone by sheer will power.

"Here she comes now."

"Shit," Billy said. He'd been too busy socializing (and fondling, Machiavelli thought) to have given his menu a proper look. He began to scan it hurriedly while the others put in their orders.

"Do you even like fish?" Black Hawk asked him after she left.

"No, I just panicked."

The Native American sighed. "You can switch with me. I'll have the fish."

"Aw, you're a life saver. Let me kiss you."

"Get off of me," Black Hawk protested, swatting at him. "You big lug!"

"It's my birthday."

"I don't care," Black Hawk rumbled back.

"Who's going to give you your birthday spanks?" Billie asked, leaning across Black Hawk and cutting him off mid sentence. "Machiavelli?" she suggested slyly, grinning at them.

"No- what- why?" the Kid stuttered, turning red faster than Machiavelli had ever seen a person do before.

"Sure, I'll just bend him over our bed when we get home," Niccolo said quietly. "Would you like that?"

Billy spluttered, but the others were laughing. They all piled on, seeming to take a lot of enjoyment out of embarrassing the normally shameless young immortal.

"So when are you going to start looking for your mother again?" Black Hawk asked Billy, finally taking pity on him.

The Kid looked surprised but grateful for the change in conversation. "Oh, I don't know. We just got back from Indiana. And Perenelle has to rest a bit, doesn't she?"

"I could be alright as early as the middle of this week," she said, sipping her wine.

"You're going to Kansas next, aren't you?" Black Hawk pressed.

"Yeah… Yeah, I think we'll try there next. She liked living there, I think…"

Black Hawk stopped talking when their waitress brought over their food. "I was just thinking that Fred might like to go with you, when you do go."

"Oh, yeah?" Billy quirked an eyebrow. "Did he tell you that? Have you talked to him recently?"

"No, but he's from that area, isn't he?"

"Sort of," Billy said dubiously. "He's from Oklahoma. It wouldn't be far from where he lived originally… Did you hear from him?"

"Nah, not since we all last saw him, but you should give him a call or something. I'll go too," Black Hawk decided.

"If you want to," Billy said cautiously. "There's no guarantee we'll find anything."

"Ah, but I want to help you. It could be a guy's adventure. Plus Perenelle," he added. "Are you going to come again?" he asked, leaning around the outlaw to talk to the Italian immortal.

Machiavelli chewed carefully before answering. "If Billy wants me to."

Billy looked back and forth between the two men. "Yeah. Yeah, I want you both to come."

"Good, we're decided," Black Hawk crowed. He threw an arm around Billy's shoulder. Machiavelli felt Billy let go of his hand again, taking up his utensil again. "What are we going to do after this?"

"We don't have to do anything," Billy said quickly. Next to him, Machiavelli added his agreement. He would have liked a little more time to relish the newness of their relationship.

The others however, seemed to have their own agenda in mind. After dinner, they all went bowling. Even Perenelle took a turn. Their group was polarized by ability. Billy, Black Hawk, Scatty, and Machiavelli were actually quite good bowlers; the others, terrible. Perenelle seemed to be afraid of falling, which made her reluctant to get the necessary momentum up. Billie ended up tossing her ball into the wrong lane and threatened Black Hawk bodily when he laughed at her.

Machiavelli was enjoying himself. He didn't know if it was because he was with the closest thing he'd had to a family in hundreds of years or if it was because the thought of going to bed with Billy tonight was making him nervous, but he was happy to prolong the experience either way. He knew that the outlaw wasn't unhappy either with the proceedings, as he was the one who insisted on the fourth game.

His stomach lurched when they finally left the bowling alley. It had been all well and good, he thought, to spend the afternoon cuddling, but he had no idea what Billy expected of him. He smiled at the American immortal, but they weren't able to talk much as they moved towards the two vehicles. Here, they split up for the first time that day. Billy was taking the Flamels back, who seemed to have been traumatized enough by Black Hawk's driving for one day. Machiavelli went instead with the girls and Black Hawk.

Black Hawk ran through three different red lights to get home before the Kid, and when he finally came up the back staircase, they had lit the candles on a very large cake and were waiting for him. Billy blushed when they sang him 'Happy Birthday' and tried to hide behind Nicholas, but Machiavelli could tell that he was very pleased.

Despite being so impatient at dinnertime, Billy seemed beyond happy to let the night linger now. It was Billy, in fact, who asked if they could do something together, perhaps play games. He was absolutely glowing; Machiavelli was a bit awestruck by the very sight of him, even though the Kid wasn't doing anything particularly amazing. When Nicholas and Scatty went to get the games out of the study upstairs, he was stuffing his second piece of birthday cake into his mouth and dancing out reach of Black Hawk, whose cake the outlaw had stolen and was now eating.

Machiavelli drew up his legs as they made a lap around the couch. Billy stuffed the last piece of cake in his mouth, let out a triumphant "Ha!" and collapsed on the cushion next to the Italian immortal, laughing and spilling chocolate crumbs on him which he picked off with an apology and ate.

"You little bastard," Black Hawk shot at him, taking a seat on Machiavelli's other side and squishing the tactician with his bulk.

"You can get another piece from the dining room," Billy pointed out without a trace of shame.

"So could you! Instead of taking my piece," Black Hawk grumbled. "That was my first piece, you big pig."

"It's my birthday," Billy said sanguinely. He leaned on Machiavelli's shoulder, grinning at both men. "Right, Mac?"

"Well, I'm not sure that…"

"See, Mac agrees with me," the American immortal said loudly over Machiavelli's diffident answer. He wrapped his arms around Niccolo's shoulder, giving him a bone crushing hug. "Mac always agrees with me, right buddy?" he asked, his face squished against Niccolo's.

There was a light clicking noise; Perenelle had snapped a picture of them. Billy overbalanced and fell, laughing across Machiavelli and landed sprawled half in his lap, half in Black Hawk's. "There's another good picture," Nicholas commented, looking over her shoulder. "Okay, Billy, cher ami, what would you like to play?"

Billy sat up with great difficulty. He looked through the pile of games with interest. "How many people do we have?" he asked, counting for himself. "Seven… that rules out some of these right away."

"Most you can play with six people," Black Hawk pointed out, throwing an arm over Billy's shoulders. "Pick whatever you want. I can always watch."

"Don't pick anything too complicated," Billie warned from her place by the fireplace. "I'm too drunk and old to learn something new."

"What do you consider too complicated? Besides bowling, I mean," Billy asked, quite seriously, though many of the other immortals in the room were laughing again, with varying attempts to hide it.

"Just pick one of the old standbys," she said, snuggling with Georgette, who seemed to like the jazz singer.

"How about Clue?" he suggested.

"Clue would be nice, dollface." She showed no signs of moving though. With a sigh, the three men on the couch pushed the coffee table closer to her. Black Hawk picked up the couch on his own, shoving it close to the fire. Scatty curled catlike by Machiavelli's side.

By the time the game ended- Perenelle won- Machiavelli was feeling too sleepy and well fed to be nervous about anything. He excused himself and went upstairs to shower, wondering if anything would happen at all. Perhaps Billy, who'd had a third slice of cake would be too comatose to want to mess around. He could imagine finding the outlaw fast asleep when he came back to their room. Realizing that he'd forgotten to bring nightclothes, he dressed again in his suit.

The room was semi dark when he came in from his shower. Billy was standing by the window, looking out at the snow falling. "Another storm, Mac," he called over his shoulder.

Niccolo took another swipe at his hair with the towel. He felt for the door behind him, making sure it was shut all the way. "Good thing I've got you to keep me warm."

Billy laughed, bright and delighted. He spun unusually gracefully on his right leg, pivoting around so that he could face Machiavelli. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, the last article of clothing he had on. The Italian thought privately that his friend- no, boyfriend, he corrected himself- seemed nervous, but surveying him, Machiavelli couldn't help but stare a little. The jeans were open at the clasp, half unzipped.

"Wishing I was a little more ripped?" Billy asked, a smile curving his lips.

"No, that would freak me out. Besides, you're hardly fat." Coming to stand in front of the slighter man, he reached with some hesitancy for him, touching his hips lightly. "I think you're incredibly handsome, William."

Billy beamed and ducked his head. He mussed the hair on the back of his head, glancing shyly at Machiavelli. "You really think that, Mac?"

"Of course I do. Although if you keep eating this volume of desserts, that might change…" His fingers trailing lower, the tactician slipped under the stiff denim. "Billy? Why aren't you wearing-?"

The Kid grinned at his surprise, seeming to be emboldened by the Italian's interest. "I thought it might be more intriguing for you if I forewent underwear today. It's been a very cold experience though."

"I bet," Machiavelli laughed.

Billy seemed a bit tentative, as though he wasn't quite sure what to say or do next. He looked like he wanted to go further, but also wasn't willing to put himself that far out there. Machiavelli decided that this time, he should take up the initiative. After all, Billy had already taken the bigger risk the night before.

"Come to bed with me," he suggested. It felt a little silly- they always shared a bed.

Billy gave him a tiny grin though. "Okay," he agreed, as if this was something special.

Machiavelli felt his stomach drop lower. "Ah," he said, as if just remembering, "and lose the pants too." He smiled wickedly. "Unless you'd like me to help you with that?"

Rubbing his nose self-consciously, the Kid nodded. It was such a slight gesture that Machiavelli felt compelled to ask for permission again, to be sure that he wasn't forcing the younger immortal to do anything he didn't want.

As the Italian began to slip off the younger man's jeans, Billy began to chatter nervously. "You know Mac, I was watching a special on the TV the other about polar bears and grizzly bears mating and how- ah-" Machiavelli had just undid the zipper the rest of the way and was beginning to push them down; Billy shivered- he felt a chill slip down his back, cold coming off of the window behind him. He sucked in a breath and continued, "How they can produce viable offspring. Some people call them grolar bears and some call the pizzlies. I'm partial to grolar bears myself-"

Machiavelli finally looked up at the American. "William," he sounded faintly amused, "Why are we talking of grolar bears?" He looked into Billy's clear blue eyes, but his hand was exploring the bulge beginning to show more visibly.

Billy was moaning slightly, revealing his front teeth. "You're making me nervous going this slow," he wheezed as if Machiavelli had cut off his air supply.

The Italian immortal smirked and kissed him once more. His fingers ghosted up Billy's front, pinching at the American's nipple, teasing him, before dipping his fingers underneath the band of Billy's pants. "You're supposed to enjoy a work of art slowly. And I think you're gorgeous."

Billy blushed crimson. His whole body shuddered as he let himself by overtaken by the Italian. He said nothing as Machiavelli pushed down the rest of his jeans, leaving him hopeless exposed, but Machiavelli was pleased to see that this blush remained as the younger man lowered himself onto the bed.

Niccolo tried not to stare at the younger man, but it was very difficult. He hadn't seen Billy completely naked ever; or the very least, he'd never been able to openly scrutinize the younger immortal. The Kid drew up his legs protectively, seemingly embarrassed by all the attention, but Machiavelli could tell that he was slightly aroused in the same moment. "I don't mean to stare," Niccolo apologized, but at the same time, he sat on the edge of the bed and reached out a hand for the American immortal, touching the muscles in his stomach.

"People just can't help but stare at me," Billy bragged lightly, laughing and falling back onto the bed. "Must be my amazing physique." He flexed his arms.

"Yes, your sculpted abs," Machiavelli agreed gravely, playing along.

Billy snorted. Machiavelli loved the way his erection bobbed slightly in time with the Kid's laughter. "No, it's all my eyes. You're clearly lost in my baby blues."

"I think everything about you is beautiful," he whispered lovingly as he climbed onto the bed himself.

"You really think that?"

"Of course I do."

"Hm… I almost believe you," Billy said, with the hint of a smile in his voice. "Come on, Mac, this isn't fair. You've got me completely exposed and here you are with like, sixteen layers on." His fingers paused on the buttons of the Italian's shirt. "Can I undress you?"

Machiavelli hesitated. Billy was younger and fitter than he was, even with his body still biologically in his late twenties. He felt that he was quite scrawny by comparison. "Sure." Billy sat up now, his body pressed against the Italian who felt both electrified and also a bit sick with nerves. The outlaw had some trouble undoing his buttons; Machiavelli was sure that the Kid had very little experience undressing other men, but he seemed to be quite happy to learn.

"I'm glad you still wear this," Billy told him, tangling his fingers around the chain of the pendant around his neck. He looked quite proud indeed when he tossed the shirt on the floor behind him. "I guess I always loved you, huh?" Leaning in, his lips sought the Italian's.

"I guess so… Billy, couldn't I just-?"

"Leave it."

"But it's going to wrinkle."

"So are these," Billy pointed out, laughing as he tugged at the Italian's pant legs. "Okay, okay. Go hang up your clothes. Get rid of these."

Pushing up, off the bed, Machiavelli turned off the lamp on his side of the room. The room was significantly dimmed by this action, which was reassuring to the tall tactician. He scooped the shirt off the ground, carefully placing it in their hamper. Stepping out of the pants, he hung these on the little rack next to the hamper and, fetching his suit jacket from before, hung both up painstakingly.

He heard a loud, dramatic sigh from the bed- Billy was getting impatient. Smiling to himself, Machiavelli moved even slower, turning gracefully to look over at the impetuous American. "Something wrong?" he said, deliberately being difficult.

"I'm going to explode any minute."

"Try not tugging so hard and you should last a bit longer."

Billy threw a pillow at him which he ducked, laughing. "Get over here," he hissed.

"I'm coming, coming." Doing it before he could change his mind, he stepped out of his shorts and climbed on the bed, feeling the chill of the night slip over and around him. He was holding his breath, glad that the low lighting gave him some semblance of privacy.

"You're big," Billy said in surprise. "Holy Christ, Mac."

"Oh, well… yeah, I guess so…" Machiavelli agreed, glancing down himself now.

The Kid snorted now, loudly. "Now you really are my Italian Stallion," he explained himself, seeing Machiavelli's questioning look.

"Oh, Billy…" But the Kid was still looking him over and he inhaled sharply when Billy touched him, reaching around to cup him in his hands. He let out a very shaky breath, letting the outlaw explore his body to his heart's content.

"Touch me too," Billy begged in his ear.

Kneeling over the younger man, he held his hand up to Billy's mouth. "Suck on my fingers." He felt thrills of pleasure when the Kid complied, taking each digit in his mouth individually. Shifting down slightly, he began to jerk Billy off, amazed that they were here and doing this.

Billy didn't seem to know where to touch. His fingers grazed Machiavelli's hips, worked their way towards the other man's erection and then touched himself. He moaned, which the Italian hastily muffled by covering his mouth, apologizing profusely. Their mutual desire was prevalent in the air, moving back and forth between the two men like an electrical current. They were both caught up in a desire to know, to explore, and to discover.

"Are you trying to tickle me?" Billy giggled helplessly as their actions became more erratic with time.

"No! I just was trying to feel where the edge of you was so I could get a better grip.I hope one of these days we learn to synchronize our movements," Machiavelli whispered to the outlaw, who was laughing.

"I hope it takes a lot of practice," the Kid whispered back. Rolling onto his side, he pulled Machiavelli down beside him. "I'm getting tired…"

"Let's stop for the night," Machiavelli suggested. "I wasn't expecting to have sex tonight. I'd- I'd like to take it slow, you know? Is that okay?" Cuddled up next to him, Billy nodded. "I thought we took a pretty big step tonight, don't you?"

"That was amazing," Billy complimented him weakly. He grinned up at the Italian, starry eyed, happy, and very well sated.

Machiavelli felt around for their blanket, feeling the chill for the first time since they'd started. He pulled it over them. "You're gorgeous," he said again, making Billy blush.

"Nah," he deflected. Kissing the other man on the cheek, he clicked off the light. "Happy birthday, Mac."

"It's more your birthday than mine," Machiavelli reminded him, wrapping an arm around Billy's middle. "I love you."

There was a little intake of air; "I love you back, Mac."

"Oh, William, you're slipping into verse…"

"Happens frequently when I masturbate," Billy joked. "Little known side effect."

"Mm, then I'll have to teach you some limericks," Machiavelli mumbled into his hair. He wanted to keep talking to Billy, to make him laugh some more, but his eyelids were getting heavy. They were both still quite tired from their trip earlier that week. He found he couldn't keep his eyes open…


	72. Chapter 72

The room was filled with bright, white light when Billy woke up the next morning. He stretched out a hand wanting to touch Machiavelli but, groping around, found that the other side of the bed was abandoned and that he was quite alone. A sense of panic briefly filled Billy's head. _'Was it real?'_ he wondered wildly, sitting up abruptly. "Mac?" he called quietly, hoping that maybe he had just gone down the hall. There wasn't any answer and he couldn't hear anyone moving around nearby.

"What's going on?" he mumbled, getting out of bed. He was a little surprised to find himself completely undressed, but then the events of the previous night flooded back and he laughed with a little bit of relief. His happiness was short lived however- ' _why had Niccolo left? Was he ashamed of what had happened?'_ He thought that the Italian immortal had been enjoying himself, but what if he had reconsidered things now that they had injected a physical aspect into their relationship? Dressing quickly, Billy mused over these things, feeling that he had pushed them forward too fast. He should have taken things slow…

The house was remarkably quiet, he noticed, as he made his way down the hallway of the second floor. Pausing midway through the passage, he turned on his heel and made his way up the stairs instead to the top floor. The door to his old bedroom- Scatty's room now- was open, revealing an empty room. No redhead, he thought, wondering where everyone had gone.

The study door was closed however. He glanced at his watch- mid morning- and decided to knock lightly. "Come in," he heard Perenelle call.

He eased his way through, sticking his head through the door. "Hi, Mrs. Flamel," he said apologetically. "I didn't know you were still in bed, I'll just go." But he hadn't even moved before she called him back, inviting him to take a seat at the desk.

He entered reluctantly, feeling somehow that invading Perenelle's privacy was rather like stepping onto the other side of the counter at the bank- it shouldn't be allowed. The Frenchwoman looked remarkably less put together than usual, her hair streaming down over her shoulders and her pajamas rumpled. "Wondering where everyone is?" she asked, reaching for a hairbrush on the side table and beginning to work her hair into order.

He nodded mutely. "Ah, well, the three of them went for a walk. The dog, he was barking quite loudly this morning. I'm surprised it didn't wake you. They left about a half hour ago."

"Mac took a dog for a walk," Billy said quickly, pure relief hitting him now. "And- and the others," he added, not wanting to seem too keen on the Italian immortal. "I wondered where he went."

"Well, now you know," she said, smiling at him. Getting out of bed, she stretched gracefully. "Did you have fun last night?"

Images of what he had done to the warlock last night flashed through his mind. He was confused- _'how could she know about that?'_ he wondered- but then he realized that she was talking about before they'd gone upstairs, when they were all playing games. "Y-yeah. One of my best birthdays, I have to admit."

"Good. You deserve a lifetime of happy birthdays," she said, looking at him fondly.

He gave her a shy smile. Perenelle reminded him of some of the school teachers who had flitted through his childhood. A bit stern yes, but loving all the same. "Did you like bowling?" he asked her, taking the brush back from her. He set it on the desk behind him.

"I did. Even if I felt like I was going to fall the whole time."

"Have you fallen before? When you bowl, I mean. That's usually why people get nervous of something."

She laughed a little, looking at him with her flecked brown eyes. "I fell one time when Nicholas brought me bowling, but that was many years ago, so I don't know if that was really it. We've gone bowling several times since and I've never fallen in between now and then. I don't know," she said frankly. Picking up a housecoat, she donned it and held out a hand for him. "Let's go have some breakfast, you and I."

"When you say a long time ago, how long do you mean?" he asked her curiously, guiding her down the stairs. He liked talking to her; talking in general had always made him feel better. And he liked the mental image of the Flamels, so impervious in nature, on a silly little date at a bowling alley.

"Oh, gosh," she said, thinking it over. "It was a little after the war of 1812."

"What?" he shouted, laughing. "That was before I was even born. They had bowling back then? I mean, Mac told me that he like bocci ball, but I didn't know they had bowling in America back then… That was fifty years before I was born…"

"Well, as Niccolo has probably told you, bowling has existed throughout different cultures for centuries. We used to play it in the alley, near where I lived when I was a child…" He waited, but she didn't continue the thought. Instead, she moved forward with the conversation. "I think bowling came to American in the late 18th century. They mentioned it in Rip Van Winkle- it's bowling that wakes him up- and that was published in what, 1819?" She squinted as though seeing something far in the distance. "Yes, right around then anyways."

He made her breakfast, listening as she told him about other funny little facts, things that he thought had been more recent. Not all of what she said was really surprising, when he thought about it. He'd known about sewing machines and pasteurization and dynamite, just from his rudimentary self-guided education. On the other hand, he was startled when she told him that the first dishwasher had been invented in 1850. "But we didn't have electricity," he blurted out. "That's not very convenient, is it?"

She laughed. "None of the early versions of it were particularly useful. Especially since you turned them by hand. We were hardly better off… It was a woman, Josephine Cochran, who made the first practical dishwasher."

"Women are just better," he laughed. "More insightful." And before he could help it- "I miss my mother, Perenelle."

She looked up from the newspaper she'd been skimming. "I'm sorry we couldn't have found her." He waved her off. "I know the odds were slim," she said, "but I really did."

"I didn't think we were going to find her," he admitted. "I knew in my heart that she wouldn't be there."

"Where do you think she is?" Perenelle asked, looking at him intently.

He shifted under her gaze. Yes, it was definitely a school marm kind of look she'd mastered. "I don't know exactly. I think she's either in Kansas or New Mexico. She was happy in Kansas, I think, but that's where she started to get really sick. And she was sick in New Mexico, but that's where we finally settled."

"I think we should try again, to find her. I was thinking maybe we could start at the end of the week," she told him.

He hesitated. "I don't want you sick on my account," he told her earnestly. "You still look pale. You need to rest."

Now she was the one who waved aside his remark. "I need to go out and get some sun, is all," she said in a brisk tone, sounding like her usual stubborn self. "Nicholas and I are going to go on a walk this afternoon. I have to get our Christmas shopping started. Now that the stories are less crazy than they were on Friday…"

"What would you like for Christmas?" he asked her, intrigued. He was always curious as to what other immortals desired. Given their long lifespans, they were usually able to acquire most things they wanted on their own. He was hoping for an idea of what to get his Italian friend. "A book?"

She laughed. "Yes, sometimes, but I like other things. New clothes, for instance." _Clothes,_ he mused. _Yeah, Mac likes clothes, but he wouldn't like my taste in them… Maybe Perenelle would help him pick out something though. She was stylish._ "What else?" he prompted her. It took her a few more minutes of pondering. "Jewelry. And trips. Sometimes he writes me poetry." She looked like she felt she'd said too much. She took another sip of her coffee.

"Hm…" He still had no idea of what to give the Italian immortal. It occurred to him that the tactician was financially much better off than he was. They heard a key turning in the lock and he leaned forward, peeping down the hall.

They came in with a gust of cold air. Scatty and Nick first, with the husky, and then, at last he saw Machiavelli. The tall immortal looked more handsome than ever. He looked down the hallway at Niccolo with a little apprehension on his face, but the tactician smiled as he made his way towards him. He felt the traces of doubt slip away as quickly as they'd come; he beamed.

"I didn't want to wake you up this morning," Niccolo explained, taking a seat beside him. "You looked very peaceful. And we'd all been up pretty late the night before."

"I was tired," he agreed. "But I thought I was going crazy, this morning… Everyone was gone."

"Ah, sorry about that. We actually weren't planning on taking such a long walk. The Pup is popular with the ladies." Yawning, he stole the Kid's coffee mug. "Right, Scatty?" he asked, as she took the seat across from them.

"Yeah, he hams it up as much as the real Billy does. So, did Machiavelli give you your birthday spanks?" Scatty asked him, interestedly.

"No, I forgot," Machiavelli said, giving the American immortal his beverage back. "Bend over, William, we have quite a few to catch up on. You're how old now, exactly?"

"I'm a hundred and forty-six… and don't tease me like that," he added, blushing furiously.

"Well, I wouldn't give you a hundred and forty-six spanks," the tactician said. "You wouldn't be able to walk afterwards… Of course, many people are unable to walk, at least for a little while afterwards, once I'm done with them. For one reason or another," he added with a mischievous smile. He'd pitched his voice low so that the Flamels, over by the sideboard, couldn't hear. But Scatty gave them a searching look. They both returned their most innocent looking smiles, Billy resting an arm on Machiavelli's shoulder.

~MB~

They didn't get a chance to talk to Scatty alone over the next two days. It seemed like as soon as one of them had gotten her aside, the other was called into the company of the other immortals, as though some invisible force was determined to keep them held in secret.

"You know who we should go see?" Machiavelli asked Billy over Sunday night's dinner. The Kid looked up, a bit of bread suspended in midair. He quirked his eyebrow and asked who. "I was thinking that we should go see Jill again. We were going to see her before we left for Indiana, but we never did. We should go now, before you leave for Kansas."

Billy dipped the bread in his soup and chewed it thoughtfully. "You're coming to Kansas with me, aren't you?" Machiavelli nodded; so did Billy. "Sure. We should make plans. Want to come with us Scatty?" he asked, looking over at her.

She looked surprised. "Me? I guess so, kid. But what about-?"

Nicholas caught her look. "I was planning on bringing Perenelle out on a date tomorrow night. We're going to see the symphony."

Billy tapped Scatty on the arm. "I think you'll like Jill. I didn't think I would at first, but I did." He smiled at her. "And who wouldn't like you?"

"Jill's a sweet girl," Machiavelli agreed.

"Do I seem like the type who likes sweet girls?" Scatty asked archly.

Billy laughed. "Give her a chance. I think you'll find that she can hold her own in a conversation."

Machiavelli made the call following dinner. Jill sounded surprised- perhaps she had thought they'd forgotten her- but she also sounded quite happy to hear from him. They made plans for the next night, deciding that they would come over to her apartment. He thought that the addition of Scatty to their group had made her a little nervous, but he had faith that the Shadow would be able to be kind to her, even gentle. He'd seen her do it with him, and with Billy.

The next night, they headed out after darkness had fallen. Scatty had claimed the backseat without complaint. She gave them until they'd reached the end of their street before she asked her question. "Why have you two been so weird the past few days?" she asked, poking her head into the front seat and looking expectantly from the Italian immortal to the American.

They glanced at each other. Billy raised his eyebrows and gestured at the wheel as if to say that he couldn't be the one to tell her because he was piloting the car. Machiavelli felt that this was grossly unfair; it wasn't like the outlaw was using his mouth to steer the wheel- though he imagined that Billy had tried this at some point- but gave up and turned around in his seat. "Don't be mad. We've been wanting to tell you for days now…"

"Are you two-?" She gave them another glance over before focusing on the tactician.

He waited for her to finish her sentence but she didn't. He realized a second later that of course she wouldn't say the rest of it- if they weren't dating she'd be giving away their secret. He felt a rush of affection for her. "We're- we've decided to date each other," he said awkwardly, grinning like a teenager.

"You've decided to what-?" She looked like she had several things she wanted to say, all at once. Opening and closing her mouth, she took a deep breath. "Oh, you just casually started dating? When?"

"Only last week," Machiavelli said quickly. "When we went for that walk on Thanksgiving Day, Billy told me that he…"

"I told him that I was in love with him," Billy interjected. "Cause I thought I might as well risk it. I was going to ask you what I should do but then I thought, just get it done, before I lost my nerve, you know? And I knew that you thought I should tell him because we've talked about it before." He said this all very quickly, in one breath.

"You really did tell him, didn't you?" she said, sounding delighted. "I'm actually impressed, Billy," Scatty told him. "And now does this mean he knows how you've felt about him all along?" she asked, glancing over at Machiavelli.

"No, I told him I wasn't interested at all, but we decided to move forward anyways with the dating thing," he said, but quietly. She hit him on the arm, but Billy was laughing. He couldn't help but grin at her. "Of course I told him that I loved him back. He'd already taken the dangerous step, hadn't he?"

"Aw, but I think that was the perfect thing for both of you," she said quite seriously. "Cause it gave Billy control and you security. It's nice. Wow, guys." She sat back in her seat, thinking about it. "I'm really very happy for you. Really, I am."

"I'm happy too," Machiavelli admitted, reaching out to touch Billy's arm. "It was a surprise for me, believe me."

Scatty made a motion with her hand. "No, it's not really a surprise. I knew it was just a matter of time before you two figured it out… So wait, have you kissed yet? Are you having sex?"

Machiavelli made an odd coughing noise. "You can't just ask people that," he argued with her, covering his face slightly behind his hand.

"We're messing around," Billy chimed in happily. "He really is big, Scatty. Well, you are." He said, catching the horrified expression on Machiavelli's face. "Oh, you don't want to tell her about the touching thing? She can probably guess. We share a bed." He looked in the mirror again. "He's my Italian Stallion, Scatty!"

Machiavelli smacked him on the arm and he yipped a little, laughing uproariously. Scatty giggled uncharacteristically at the look on Machiavelli's face. "We're here!"

"Cheer up," she told the Italian, climbing out after him. "He's excited by your physique."

"Yes, well, good…" he mumbled, still feeling rather shy about all this. "Doesn't mean he needs to spread it around to everyone on the planet," he called ahead to the American.

Billy walked backwards, smiling at him. "I had to tell Scatty. I can't tell anyone else. And I've got to brag, Mac, cause that's just in my nature."

Machiavelli scoffed, but there was a smile on his lips as they walked up to the door. "We kissed under a lamppost," he told Scatty. "Snow was falling."

She shook her head, still smiling at him. "You two aren't going to end up being one of those cutsie couples are you?"

"We're going to be the cutest couple you ever did see," Billy told her, pummeling the button next to 2B. "Hello!" he said, when she answered. "It's Billy! Remember me?" ("Of course she remembers you," Machiavelli said). Billy ignored this. Getting buzzed up, they made their way into the building and up a flight of stairs before knocking on the door to the left. They heard a rustling noise, a small crash, and muffled swears before the door opened.

"Hi," Jill said, excitedly. "Come in. Don't mind the cat." She kept pushing back an all-black cat with her foot. "This is Mister."

"Look at you. Cutie," Billy gushed, picking up the cat. "Is there a Missus?"

"Actually, we call her Ma'am." She pointed at a second black cat, this one with a white sock, a purple collar, and a bemused expression upon her face. "Mister and Ma'am. I've always taken in black cats. I have a soft spot for them…"

"So precious," Billy cooed, looking at the cat in his arms. The cat was laying like a baby, casually licking a back paw as though he'd always known the Kid. Scatty, standing next to Machiavelli in the doorway, coughed. Billy looked up, as if surprised there were other people with him. "Oh, Jill, this is our friend Scathach. Call her Scatty."

"Oh, hi," Jill said, her voice a little higher than usual. She came rushing over, stepping over a stack of books that had spilled out across the floor. "Nice to meet you. I dropped the books when I was going to the door. Probably shouldn't stack them there. Scathach, huh?" She rubbed her stomach awkwardly. "Like the Scottish warrior?"

The red head blinked. "You know about Scottish legendry? That's kind of obscure history."

"I'm kind of an obscure person," she laughed. "Hey," she said suddenly, looking between Billy and Machiavelli. "Something's different between you two. Are you-?"

Machiavelli's face relaxed into a smile. "We are."

She lit up, glowing as though she was the one who'd finally found love. "Aw, that's wonderful guys. You're going to be so happy together."


	73. Chapter 73

December dawned cold and gray mid-week, another dusting of snow turning the entire city a shade of white. Statues around town looked like they were emerging from a curtain of fog, so all-encompassing was the lack of color around them. Machiavelli and Billy got up earlier in the morning than the others to take the dog for a walk and to talk freely. After their first passionate night, they'd returned to a much slower pace, happy to fall in love without a hurry.

Machiavelli was glad that they'd decided to take it slower. The thought of having sex with the younger immortal, though very exciting, also made him incredibly nervous. He wasn't sure if he was ready to begin having sex again just yet, especially sex with a man, something he'd never done before. He was content for now to wake up to morning kisses and late night cuddling. And sometimes, as they were falling asleep, Billy would touch him, trailing his fingers over the hills and valleys of Machiavelli's body, gentle and sure.

With Perenelle looking better, they began to make plans to travel down to Kansas. Billy had finally gotten a call in to Fred; he hadn't been sure the Chickasaw immortal would have his phone on, but was pleasantly surprised to find that his old friend had answered right away. Black Hawk had been right- the old gunslinger had agreed to join them without much prompting. Machiavelli wondered if Fred missed the outlaw; he knew both Native American immortals were inordinately fond of his boyfriend.

Scatty went with them when they went up to fetch the Native American, perhaps wanting to spend some time with them where they could all talk freely. They'd talked some during their dinner with Jill, but the Italian immortal had the feeling that Scatty had held back. She wasn't now, however.

"So you two have kissed?" she asked, before they had even gotten off their road.

Billy grinned into his rear-view mirror. "Yeah, quite a bit." Reaching out a hand to Machiavelli, he touched the other man's shoulder. "Mac's a good kisser."

"He's actually being very kind," the Italian protested. "It's been years since I've really kissed anybody… I'm not very good at it."

"Could have fooled me. Besides, that's why we're practicing," Billy joked. His eyes crinkled with happiness, he scanned the skies. "Good thing we're getting Fred today. It's going to snow soon. A Chippewa friend of Black Hawk's taught me how to predict these things. I love you, Mac," he added, suddenly. "Sorry, Scatty. We don't get to say it too much."

"It's okay," she said, smiling back at them slightly. She was much shyer than she usually was suddenly, as though she felt like she was encroaching on their relationship.

Billy glanced at the Italian immortal. He noticed that sometimes he was the only one telling the other man that he loved him. He didn't doubt that Machiavelli did love him, but wondered what it meant when the other immortal was silent. Niccolo had been looking out the windows too, but he looked over now. Billy wondered how he knew to do that.

Smiling faintly, Machiavelli reached out his hand. Holding Billy's, he kissed the knuckles. The outlaw felt a warm explosion in the pit of his stomach. His heart still beat faster each time the tactician touched him. "I do love you too," Niccolo said, quietly but steadily. "Don't worry."

Billy squeezed his hand before letting go. "I wasn't worried," he said, taking the exit. "I'm never worried with you." But he was glad that Machiavelli had said it again to him, needed his reassurances. It was too early to take such things for granted.

The trees were getting thicker now as they moved farther away from the interstate. The Thunderbird struggled to get up one particularly steep slope. Billy grumbled and shook the wheel slightly, trying to grab onto the road.

"Have you considered, caro," Machiavelli began, "getting a winter vehicle? I only ask," he added hurriedly, "because this car- your baby- it's going to have trouble with a northern winter, I think."

"I sometimes will rent a car if I'm staying in New England," Billy said reluctantly. He patted the dashboard, feeling like he was betraying an old friend. "But I love my Thunderbird…"

"Kid, we're freezing," Scatty called from the backseat. "I could cut glass with my nipples. What?" she said defensively, cause they both looked back at her after that one.

"Look at the road," Machiavelli ordered the outlaw, still making a face at Scathach who arched an eyebrow back at both of them. "Or we'll all die today."

"I would never crash. It would ruin my car. Oh, and you guys," he added quickly.

"Don't kill your boyfriend."

"Look, there's a sign for the reservation," he said, pointing to it as they passed. "It's five miles away, now."

Scatty must have felt that they were running out of time to talk freely. She leaned forward again, propping her arm on Machiavelli's seat. "So why haven't you told anybody?"

Machiavelli glanced over at the Kid quickly. "Well, we thought-."

"I wanted to keep it quiet just for now," Billy corrected. He was quiet as he took a side road. "Cause I really do love Mac- I really do, Mac- but… I don't know how the others will react."

She quirked her eyebrow. "What, like the Flamels? They're not going to care."

"Well, them, yes, but also Black Hawk…" he mumbled, sending a quick glance over to Machiavelli. The Italian immortal thought his partner looked rather guilty, but he didn't think the American immortal had anything to be ashamed of. He wanted to point that out, but Scatty was still talking and he was hoping that she'd be able to sort out some of the Kid's issues.

"Black Hawk's your best friend," she pointed out. "Don't you think you're not giving him enough credit? I mean sure, he comes across as super macho, but…" she trailed off. "He loves you. Even if he doesn't show it. He'd want to know."

Billy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Maybe. What do you think, Mac?"

Niccolo looked over at him. "You take your time, Billy. I won't love you any less."

The look on Billy's face was enough to convince him that he was doing what was right. He really didn't want the Kid to do anything that he wasn't completely comfortable with. Scatty broke into his musings. "I can't believe you finally told each other," she said.

Machiavelli's heart still seemed to be beating faster than normal. Turning in his seat, he grinned back at her. "Billy had to be brave for both of us. I would never have said anything."

They were pulling down an icy road now and Machiavelli knew they must be close. He was beginning to recognize some of the landmarks around them. Billy looked over at him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to ruin our relationship if you didn't feel the same way. Scatty told me I should tell you."

"I did," she said from the backseat.

"Yeah, she told me that too," Billy agreed, grinning at her in the mirror. "Do I get bonus points for following your advice?"

"Yeah, there will be something extra in your stocking," she said tartly. "So, are you having sex?"

Machiavelli made an odd coughing noise. "You can't just ask people that," he argued with her, covering his face slightly behind his hand.

"We're messing around," Billy chimed in happily. "He really is big, Scatty. Well, you are." He said, catching the horrified expression on Machiavelli's face. "Oh, you don't want to tell her about the touching thing? She can probably guess. We share a bed." He looked in the mirror again. "He's my Italian Stallion, Scatty!"

Machiavelli smacked him on the arm and he yipped a little, laughing uproariously. Scatty giggled uncharacteristically at the look on Machiavelli's face. "We're here!"

"Cheer up," she told the Italian, climbing out after him. "He's excited by your physique."

"Yes, well, good…" he mumbled, still feeling rather shy about all this. "Doesn't mean he needs to spread it around to everyone on the planet," he called ahead to the American.

Billy walked backwards, smiling at him. "I had to tell Scatty. I can't tell anyone else. And I've got to brag, Mac, cause that's just in my nature."

Machiavelli scoffed, but there was a smile on his lips as they walked up to the door. He took Scatty's arm, feeling pleasantly light. They could see Fred and other members of the reservation waiting up ahead. He understood exactly what Billy had meant. He wanted to tell everyone too. They'd have to figure something out. For now, it would have to be enough that he had Billy, and that Scatty knew.

~MB~

Billy threw his arms around Fred the moment they were within distance of each other. Squeezing him in what looked like a tight embrace, they pivoted. Fred was smiling at the outlaw. "I missed you, scarecrow," he said, kissing Billy's forehead.

"Ah, I've missed you too. How could you leave so soon after we just started seeing each other again?" Billy asked him, hanging on to the Native American's arm.

"Just trying to get away from the mangy cur Black Hawk," Fred joked. Glancing away from Billy, he smiled at Scatty and Machiavelli. "I see you brought your favorites with you."

"Naturally," Billy agreed happily. "Hey, is Mary here? I wanted to see her again, thank her, you know."

"Sure, I can bring you to her." Walking up the path, they made their way to the house by the sweat lodge once more. Scatty looked around curiously and Machiavelli remembered that she hadn't been here before. He slowed so that he could walk beside her. Up ahead of them, Fred had knocked on the ranch style house and as they approached, the door opened to reveal the medicine woman who had cured the outlaw when they'd last visited. Billy ducked his head as he looked up at her, peering out at her from under his fringe.

"Hello," he said shyly, bending to take her hand.

"You look much better, child," she said, smiling at him as she looked him over. "The weight is off you."

Billy looked confused by this, but he glanced over at Machiavelli, who leaned against the wall and smiled at him. The corners of his mouth curved in return. Machiavelli was surprised himself; had Billy been in love with him even then, when they'd dropped Fred off at the reservation? They followed her into the little house; Fred sat at a desk that was clearly set aside for him. Machiavelli made a mental note to ask Billy about all this later; meanwhile, the others had been talking and he forced himself to focus.

Fred had been showing Scatty his notes so far on the tribe's history. Machiavelli pushed off from the wall and came to sit with them, listening to the Native American immortal discussing how the language had changed, how some words had been lost, and their efforts to restore a historical sense of understanding. "You must have experienced some of this," Fred said, seeing Machiavelli listening. "You're much older than I am."

The Italian nodded, though he was hesitant to admit that he was older than Fred, who was similar in age with his boyfriend. "Yes, well, the priorities and reasons why we use language has changed. You have some cultures which sternly try to preserve- the French, for example- and others which change and proliferate rapidly. Italian has undergone some changes, over the years." Looking up, he met eyes with the Kid.

Billy's eyes were bright. He was curious, that was obvious. Machiavelli waited for him to ask his question, knowing that the American immortal was probably brimming with dozens of inquiries. "How much has it changed? Italian, I mean."

Machiavelli laughed a little. "In my time, Italian was a very divided language, composed of many different dialects. You could move from one city to another and there would be a very different understanding of the same shared words, meaning that it was rather easy to identify someone's background based solely on how they spoke. There are still those differences today, especially in rural areas, but they are less so now than they were before. Is this interesting?"

"Yes," Billy said, brushing his fingers over the man's arm as if he was unable to stop himself. The Kid blinked and smiled, before sitting on his hand. He cast a guilty look over at the Chickasaw immortal.

"We could talk for hours about the complexities of languages and their evolution," Fred said gently. There was a glimmer of understanding in the way he looked at them, but he said nothing. "But we can talk about those in the car. I'm sure you want to get back to the city before it's too late."

"I don't want to rush you," Billy protested. "We've got plenty of time."

Fred laughed. Reaching out a hand, he tousled the hair on his head. "You're such a good kid, Billy. I missed you terribly, all those years I thought you were dead. I'll show you around, introduce you to some people. Then we can go. I'm only taking a temporary leave from my position here, after all."

They said goodbye to Mary, who watched them with her deep brown eyes. Fred led them around. Some of the people they'd met before on their last visit, but they spoke more now; Machiavelli was glad for Fred's sake that he'd found a group of people who clearly cared for him despite their differences. He was surprised too, to find that these mortals not only knew of Fred's immortality, but had accepted it without question.

Fred seemed to have found a spot in the hearts of the children particularly; they trailed after him as he walked through the reservation, clinging to his hands, and asking when he was coming back and if he was coming back. Billy looked a little guilty as they made their way back to the car finally. They loaded Fred's suitcase in the trunk and backed out carefully. Behind them, there were goodbyes and parting words shouted from the youthful audience they'd left behind.

Machiavelli had joined Scatty in the backseat this time and she'd curled up beside him, leaning against his shoulder as they trundled down the backroads leading to the interstate. Fred and Billy were talking in the front seat, but in the back, the two immortals were quiet. Long car rides always seemed to have that effect on Niccolo. He rested his cheek on the top of Scatty's head, sighing a little.

"You sure you want to come with us?" Billy asked.

"Of course I do. I remember even back when we were just young kids, how much you missed her. I want to help you find her. It'll make up for leaving you alone all these years."

"Aww. You guys are sweet to me…"

"So, how are things going with Black Hawk and Billie, do you think?" Fred asked carefully.

Billy rocked a hand back and forth. "You know how they are. Who can really say?"

"True…"

"It always seems to take less time to get home than to go somewhere," Billy said cheerfully, hours later. It was already dark out, but they could see the metropolis creeping closer to them, buildings popping up at an intensifying rate. Machiavelli was thinking rather longingly of his bed or at least, the couch. He felt very cramped from his day of traveling. Throwing an arm around Scatty, he glanced out the window, his eyes a little unfocused as he let the excitement of the past few days drift through him…

"Mac." Somebody was prodding him. "Mac." It was Scatty.

"What's the matter?" he said, realizing that he hadn't been paying attention for an indeterminate period of time now.

"We're home, silly."

He looked around. "Ah. So we are." They were in the garage in fact. Fred was making his way up the stairs, but Billy was leaning over his seat, a fond smile on his face. "Hiya, honey," Machiavelli rasped.

"Hi, baby," Billy whispered. "You fell asleep."

Machiavelli made his way carefully out of the car. Standing up, he fixed his suit so that it fell straight on him as it should. "So I did," he agreed. Reaching behind him, he helped the Shadow out of the backseat. "Going to be up with Fred and Black Hawk for a while? I'm going to bed."

"Yeah, I'll be up in an hour or so. Don't wait up for me…"


	74. Chapter 74

"And what are you two doing?" Nicholas asked, wandering into the room. "I thought you'd all be heading for the airport by now? Now Perry's just gotten in the shower."

"Ah, the flight was delayed by a couple of hours. We were waiting to leave but then this movie came on," Machiavelli explained. Billy and he had been holding hands, but now as the Frenchman joined them, they moved apart, making room between us. He glanced at his watch. "We've been watching it for about an hour," he told the outlaw. "How'd that happen?"

Billy glanced at his own watch. "Well, the others all went other places. We might as well wait for them. Besides, I like this movie." He brightened. "Maybe we'll get to see all of it, after all."

Nicholas took a seat between the two of them. "What is this? Mannequin?"

Billy nodded, a tiny smile on his face. Niccolo looked over at the other European immortal. "It's a very strange movie."

The Frenchman nodded and shrugged, smiling as well. "It was the eighties…"

"Back on," Billy told them, the last of the commercial's fading. Both of the older immortals were quiet as the show started again, though Machiavelli was wondering where this plot- or lack there of- could possibly go.

"Of course, the real problem is that there are too many commercials," Billy commented minutes later as they came to another break. "This is crazy…"

"You don't have this on DVD?"

Billy scratched at his face. "I do. But that would require me to get up and find it…" He flashed a smile at the others. Machiavelli shook his head at the Kid, who curled on his side, one eye watching the screen for the show to come back on.

Another thirty minutes passed before the two Native American immortals came back. By this point, they'd been joined by Perenelle, Scatty, and Billie so that the room was busting at the seams and Machiavelli now found himself across the room from his boyfriend, a fact that made him rather unhappy.

"You sure you don't want to come with us?" he whispered to Scatty as they finally began to prepare for leaving.

"Nah, with all these men? You'll be fine, Niccolo. Why are you worried?"

"I'm just nervous I guess."

"What, cause they are mostly his friends? They like you too."

"I know. It's just that we're going to be sneaking around cause we can't tell anyone…"

"Work on him," she advised. "Billy loves you so much. He just needs to get over a few fears himself, or whatever his hang up is. He'll come around…" Patting him on the behind, she pushed him towards the door. He passed Nicholas and Perenelle and made his way down the stairs.

They were taking Black Hawk's Jeep to the airport. "I'll sit on the hump," Billy offered, boosting Machiavelli up. He followed the Italian immortal into the backseat, sitting thigh to thigh to give Fred room to join them. They called out goodbyes to Nicholas and the girls.

"Nice arrangement, huh?" Billy whispered to Niccolo as they trundled away.

"I miss your driving already," Machiavelli replied out of the corner of his mouth, speaking so low that the Kid had to cock his head to hear.

"What are you two whispering back there?" Black Hawk asked curiously, glancing at them through his rear view mirror.

"I was just trying to make a bet with Mac on whether we'd live to see the airport," Billy said in an innocent sort of voice.

"Don't make me kick you out on the interstate," Black Hawk shot back. They continued to bicker back and forth as they made their way to the airport.

The only good thing about this whole trip so far, Machiavelli reflected, was that they were so packed into the back of Back Hawk's Jeep that nobody questioned how close they were sitting to each other. Shifting his coat in his arms so that it covered all his and some of Billy's lap, Machiavelli slipped a hand over the other man's leg until he felt a hard warmth. Underneath jacket, Billy grabbed his hand; for a moment, Machiavelli thought that the outlaw wanted him to stop, but no, Billy was guiding his movements. This distraction in place, they were almost disappointed when they finally reached the parking lot they needed to park in.

This time Machiavelli was the first out of the car and he reached back to help Billy. The outlaw jumped down and stumbled, catching himself on Machiavelli's shoulders. "Foot's asleep," he said loudly, but there was a brightness in his eyes and a certain stiff way in which he moved that made Machiavelli feel quite good about himself.

Even for having waited at home a long time, they were still there well before their plane was due to take off. The others drifted off towards the various stores and kiosks located in the cavernous airport, but Machiavelli made his way over to the seats in front of their terminal, with Billy picking his way behind him. Sitting beside him, the outlaw rested his head on Niccolo's shoulder.

Niccolo glanced around to see where the others were, making sure they were out of sight, then kissed the outlaw's temple. A middle aged woman with streaks of gray hair gave them a second glance as she passed by them, then averted her eyes as if she'd seen something shameful or at the very least, private. Machiavelli ignored her. "Tired, honey?" he asked quietly.

"Mm. I was awake for a while last night. Couldn't sleep…"

"You should have woken me up," Machiavelli chastised.

"Mmpfh," Billy slurred sleepily. He rubbed his forehead against the side of Machiavelli's head. "I couldn't do that… I wanted you to get your sleep, querido," he mumbled. Groaning, he slipped down in his seat and sat up again. "These seats aren't incredibly comfortable, are they?"

"What were you thinking about?"

Billy considered the matter. His fingers crept over Machiavelli's, his hands small in comparison to the Italian's, so that he was really holding only three of the tactician's fingers with all of his. "I was just thinking about finding my mother. We're going to be running around and there's no guarantee we'll find anything."

"We might not," Machiavelli allowed, "but at least we'll know."

"Maybe we should look for your wife instead," Billy said suddenly.

Jerking his head up, Niccolo looked at him in surprise. "No, caro, we're going to find your mother. Besides…" he hesitated, looking guilty. "I love my wife… But I don't know how to talk to her about this yet. You know?" he asked nervously.

The Kid made a whinnying kind of laugh. "I mean, look at me, Mac. I can't even tell Black Hawk. Who am I to give you a hard time?"

They were quiet, looking out at the airport around them. Planes were constantly landing, people disembarking, and moving in clotted groups. In line with the direction they were facing, a soldier was greeted by a little contingent of people waving flags. An elderly woman with close cropped gray hair was greeted and rapidly disappeared under three small girls.

"This reminds me of the day we first met," Billy said sleepily, laying his head on Machiavelli's shoulder. "When you first came over?"

"I was so surprised you knew who I was write away," Machiavelli said, watching the other passengers mill around. He looked over at his companion. "You had that damn picture of me." He scowled.

"Wish I'd kept it now," Billy said thoughtfully. "I suppose you destroyed it."

"I was planning on it. Then we went to Alcatraz. So yeah, it's pretty much gone now." He glanced over at the outlaw. "Sorry, caro."

Billy grinned. "You're not the least bit sorry."

"No, I can't say that I am."

"Let me take other pictures of you," the outlaw whispered in his ear and Machiavelli felt goosebumps settle over him. Something of what he was thinking must have lingered on his features; with a sly grin, the Kid laughed. "I wasn't thinking of that kind of picture," he said, "but I certainly wouldn't say no to that either…"

Machiavelli blushed crimson. "I- I don't-," he stammered.

He was saved the trouble of answering by the arrival of Fred. Niccolo seized upon his company with almost indecent gratitude, questioning him about what he'd bought and what stores he'd gone into. The tactician was aware of Billy's thoughtful silence throughout the conversation.

They were forced to split up again when they got on the plane itself. Perenelle and Fred took two seats up by the front, while the other three headed for the back of the cabin. Black Hawk sat between them; for a minute, it looked like Billy was going to object to this seating arrangement, but he contained himself. In fact, by the time they'd taken flight, he had succumbed to the very real exhaustion that he'd been fighting all day. He curled into Black Hawk's side, snoring slightly and drooling on the Native American immortal's shoulder. Machiavelli was surprised that Black Hawk didn't object, but Black Hawk just patted the younger immortal's hand and talked with him for some time about the Chicago's World Fair that the three of them had unwittingly all gone to.

~MB~

Billy slept through the entire flight down. "Why is he so tired?" Black Hawk had asked Machiavelli about an hour in.

Machiavelli had looked up from his book. "Maybe he's nervous about looking for his mother?" he suggested, not wanting to let on that he already knew why the Kid was so tired. Leaning forward, he looked the outlaw over. Billy looked rather careworn, he thought critically. Reaching over Black Hawk, he brushed the hair out of Billy's face, smoothing it over.

"You do love him, don't you?" Black Hawk asked, and Machiavelli froze. "So do I. Billy's a good guy, isn't he?"

"Of course he is," Niccolo agreed, his heart slowing down again a little. For a second, he thought Black Hawk had guessed their secret. "I've never met anyone like him," he added, hoping that this was something one might say about their friend. He couldn't quite be sure. He hadn't had a lot of friends in the past couple of hundred years. Feeling nervous, he opened his book again.

"We're friends, aren't we?" Black Hawk asked, so unexpectedly that Niccolo dropped his book.

Glancing over at him, Machiavelli nodded, too surprised to say anything at first. "Sure. Not great friends, like you and Billy, but we… we get along and we both care for," he jerked his thumb at the Kid. "The baby," Black Hawk joked. "Exactly," Machiavelli agreed.

"Well, I was just wondering. I think I put you off sometimes."

Niccolo was quiet, mulling things over. "Sometimes I don't know what to expect with you. It's not that I dislike you though."

"Think about how sad Billy would be if we didn't get along."

Machiavelli laughed. "He would never let that happen."

They were reluctant to wake Billy up when they finally reached their destination. Black Hawk half joked that they should carry the American immortal out, but Machiavelli nixed even the slightest suggestion of that. The way they would look notwithstanding, they had too much luggage to entertain the notion. Leaning over Black Hawk, he lightly prodded the outlaw in the stomach. "Billy," he whispered. "Billy!"

Billy woke up with a small snort, looking around dazedly. He assessed the situation with remarkable haste. Reaching up, he grabbed his seat belt and did it up. "Are we there now?" he asked groggily.

"Yeah, kid. You slept the whole way down."

The outlaw yawned. "I was sluh-sluh-sleepy," he protested, leaning back and closing his eyes. He continued the conversation without reopening them. "Are we going to eat?"

"We'll get you something. You slept through the meal."

They picked him up a fast food meal at the airport, but he had to eat in the terminal of the bus depot nearby as they were still quite a bit away from where they should be. The upshot was that when they boarded the Greyhound, they were all able to sit together again. The downside is that this leg of the journey was still going to take a couple of hours.

Billy picked a seat beside Machiavelli this time, unabashedly leaning on his shoulder as they set out. Niccolo was hesitant to do anything at first, but gradually began to rub the outlaw's shoulder. He was glad for the close contact; he'd been afraid that they'd never be able to sit next to each other in public or be affectionate without it seeming strange.

It was almost midnight by the time they reached Wichita. Machiavelli saw Billy leaning forward and frowning as he looked around. "It's much bigger here than it was when I was a kid," he said forlornly.

"You just need a good night's sleep," Fred told him. "You'll feel better about things in the morning."

"Maybe…"

They rented a suite at the hotel down the road from the bus depot where they disembarked. It had two private bedrooms and a couch that folded out. "Billy and I can kip on the couch," Black Hawk said upon entering the suite. "We're not very private people." Throwing an arm around the outlaw's shoulder, he roughed up his hair.

"Ah, but…" Billy said softly, but his protests trailed away to nothing. He shrugged helplessly at the Italian. Machiavelli patted him on the shoulder. "I guess that's fine," Billy allowed.

Feeling stiff and curiously flat from their day of traveling, Machiavelli decided to take a shower before retiring for the night. He'd been in the shower maybe five minutes when he heard knocking on the door. "Mac?" It's Billy. Can I come in? I have to pee…"

"Sure," he called, projecting his voice over the sound of the running water.

Billy came into the room and put the seat up- Machiavelli heard the clang of the plastic hitting the bowl- but then Billy came over to where the shower was. "Knock knock," he called softly.

Pulling the shower curtain back, Machiavelli leaned against the wall. "I thought you had to pee?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nah, I just wanted to come do this for the night." Without much warning, Billy stole a kiss from him. Despite the steam rising all around him, Machiavelli shivered. "Love you," Billy whispered. "Wish the sleeping arrangement was a little different…"

"I think this arrangement was actually Black Hawk trying to be nice to me."

"Maybe… I've got to go though- they're going to get suspicious if I'm in here, long." He lingered though, not wanting to go.

"Come here," the Italian coaxed. Pushing his sopping bangs out of the way, he tilted his head as invitingly as he could. Billy grinned and stepped closer again. "Ti amo, caro. Now get out of here."

"Right," the American immortal said dazedly. He half turned, a goofy smile back on his face. "What am I supposed to tell them?"

"Tell them you were brushing your teeth."

"See, that's why I date you. You're so much smarter than me." Chuckling, Billy pulled the shower curtain closed again. Machiavelli heard him flush the toilet and then the door opened and closed. Smiling to himself, he reached for the soap.


	75. Chapter 75

Adult men should not share beds with people they are not romantically inclined towards, Machiavelli thought the next morning. Fred and he had maintained careful distances throughout the night, tacitly agreeing that they would never make eye contact nor would they face each other.

He woke up cold, accustomed by now to waking with Billy's arm thrown around his middle, the warmth rolling off the American immortal in waves. He missed the way that Billy would form to his body, his head in the crook of Machiavelli's neck. He…

He had to get up, he decided. He was dangerously close to being aroused, which was not what he wanted when he was in bed with an immortal he only had just come to know. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he blinked in the dim lighting. ' _Where's my bag?_ ' he wondered blearily. He gave it up as a bad job. Creeping out into the living room, he shut the door behind him carefully. The whole suite was quiet. It was only seven in the morning, but Black Hawk was already gone.

Making his way across the room, Machiavelli contemplated the outlaw, not sure if he should wake him or not. Billy looked ridiculously comfortable, wrapped rather like a burrito in a mass of blankets. His hair stuck up in all directions, going straight in the back and then kicking out as some kind of ridiculous reverse duck's ass.

"Billy," he said quietly, sitting on the edge of the foldout bed. "Caro."

Reflexively, the outlaw curled up more on his side, yawned, and woke up. He looked bemused, then glancing up, saw Machiavelli and beamed. "Hey," he whispered.

"Buongiorno," Niccolo murmured. "Sleep well?"

"Mmhm… Get in bed with me."

"No," Machiavelli laughed. "How would I explain that, if someone else comes in?"

Billy blinked up at him. Looking doleful, for a minute Machiavelli wondered if the outlaw would throw caution to the wind and invite him in. The Kid sighed. "When we get home, I'm going to have some fun with you," he said at last.

Part of Machiavelli was disappointed and part- the more rational part- knew that these things couldn't be rushed. "I'm looking forward to it." He leaned forward. "Give me a kiss? Before everyone else gets up?"

"My breath stinks."

"Doesn't matter."

"Okay." Reaching up, Billy ran his fingers through Niccolo's hair, captured Machiavelli's lips in a tender kiss, and pulled him closer. Bracing himself on the bed, Machiavelli opened his lips more, inviting the younger man to take a more intimate approach. Billy's tongue touched his teeth just slightly, then getting bolder, entered his mouth. He captured it between his lips, sucking it lightly, before moving his head so that he was tilting it the other way…

A sudden jingle of keys from outside their door startled them. Jumping to his feet, Machiavelli moved over to the little kitchenette and tried to compose himself. Billy rolled onto his side, looking over at the door with a rather mournful expression. Pulling the blankets up around him, the Kid grimaced at his tall boyfriend. Machiavelli shook his head back, snagged the newspaper on the table and opened it to a random page.

"Hey," Black Hawk called, coming in and seeing the Italian immortal. "That key doesn't fit in the lock the right way. Had to really jiggle it to get it to open." Coming around the corner, he leaned over Billy. "Is he awake yet?"

"I think he was beginning to stir," Machiavelli said, not looking up from the article he'd been reading on the rising costs associated with global warming. It was just scientific enough to curb his horniness that had been brought on strong by their recent activities. He folded the paper. "Where did you go?"

"I wanted to get the lay of the land." Before Machiavelli could register what he was doing, Black Hawk bent down and shook Billy lightly. "Come on Kid, up and at them. I know you're awake."

"Ohhh," Billy moaned miserably. "Why wake me?" he rasped.

"We've got to get to work, kiddo. Come on, I'm sure Machiavelli will make you breakfast if you're nice to him. Maybe he'll make me breakfast too?"

"Why do I have to make breakfast?" Machiavelli asked, getting off of his stool despite his protests.

"You're the dad in the group."

Niccolo peered across the kitchen island at him. "You've had kids too."

"Ah, yes, but you still have a bit of the dad thing about you. Whereas me, I'm pure fun."

The Italian immortal squinted a little, not sure if he was being insulted or not. He got the package of eggs Black Hawk had picked up last night out of the refrigerator and put them on the counter.

"I bet you were a good dad," Billy told Machiavelli, taking his abandoned chair and leaning on the island. Niccolo cocked his head in surprise. "Yep," the outlaw slurred. "Good man, good dad. I wish I knew where my dad was. He's with my mom apparently."

"What about me, Bill? Think I was a good dad?"

"I'm sure you were a very fun dad," Billy said agreeably. He leaned on Black Hawk's shoulder and slumped against him, already falling asleep again. Machiavelli watched them surreptitiously. The Native American immortal always surprised him. Again, he'd assumed the other American immortal would avoid Billy's affections; instead, he wrapped a protective arm around Billy's shoulders…

Perenelle and Fred were the last among them to get up. Machiavelli headed into their bedroom to change as soon as the Chickasaw cowboy came out, feeling self conscious in his pajamas which were really just one of Billy's old shirts and a pair of flannel pants Scatty had gotten for him. He'd tried his best not to wear them so far, preferring his button down night clothes, but now had to concede that they were very comfortable. Still, thinking about flannel sleep pants reminded him somehow of Billy and, ' _and I need to stay focused_ ,' he thought to himself.

Remembering Billy's advice from the previous night, he dressed as casually as he could bring himself to- a blazer over a button down shirt tucked into jeans.

They split into groups after breakfast, each of them trying to canvas the city in their own way. Machiavelli went with Billy; he let the outlaw lead the way. "It's very different," the Kid observed, looking a little lost and downtrodden as they made their way down the road away from their hotel. He looked so sad, in fact, that Machiavelli struggled for a minute to resist the urge to hold Billy to him and cover him with kisses. He really couldn't stand to see the younger immortal sad. "We might find some landmarks after all. We'll keep an eye out for them."

"Sure," Billy agreed, but he sounded doubtful. "I thought that some things would stay the same, somehow, or that I'd just know it because I lived here so long… guess that was pretty stupid."

"It's not stupid. I'm still shocked when I go back to Florence and everything's changed. And that's Florence, which is much more regulated on what can be changed. That's why I don't go home very often," he confided to the outlaw.

"Well, even if I don't figure out where my old home was, at least we'll have had this time together."

Glancing around them, Machiavelli grabbed Billy's hand and gave it a hard squeeze. "I can't believe I have to tell you to be more positive," he joked.

"I'm a little nervous to find my father," the Kid confessed. "Do you really think that he's with her? My mother? Cause I want to see her so much, but I don't know him. What if-?"

"What if what?" Niccolo asked patiently, taking another street at random.

"What if he doesn't like me? Or if I don't like him?"

"William. It's impossible not to like you. I tried to suppress my feelings for you, didn't I? That didn't work too well, now did it?" Billy had to grin a little. "Exactly. So now, you said you remembered her living on North Main Street?"

"Yeah… yeah. We lived a couple of blocks away from the bend in the river." They stopped to find directions on Billy's phone. "It was in Kansas that my mother started calling me Henry instead of William."

"Did she call you William? I thought she called you Billy?"

"Sometimes," Billy shrugged. "But then my stepfather came to live near us and having two Williams, she decided to change it up a bit. I was very upset at the time… I figured I had the name first. So, I didn't see why I had to change mine and not the other way around."

"That seems reasonable," Machiavelli said, smiling in the sunlight.

"It was here that we ended up finally moving in with my stepfather. Here in Wichita," Billy clarified. "We lived originally above the laundry where she worked. The air was always really thick. It would make her cough. Then we moved into his house… he lived about six or seven miles away. But even that would have been absorbed by all this industrial growth…"

"Who thought Wichita would be so populous?" the Italian agreed. A woman passing them on the sidewalk scowled at him and he felt the most fleeting sense of guilt, but then Billy laughed a little and he forgot about the woman entirely. Forgot about everyone else, actually, even their given task for the moment. He would have walked anywhere with the outlaw, who had grabbed his hand absently.

They ended up walking the length of the road twice. Billy looked over all the buildings, as if expecting to see the little tenement that he'd been a boy in spring up among the commercial complexes and tall apartment buildings. Machiavelli developed a slight limp the second time down the road; it hadn't been that long since their little trip to the backwoods of Indiana and he had muscles in his legs screaming at him in protest.

"I think it was here, Mac," Billy said finally, stopping at a house which was small and slightly forlorn. "It's hard to say. The road wasn't so wide back then… But… maybe?" He looked back at the Italian. "Are you alright? What's wrong with your leg?"

"Ah, I'm just a little out of shape, apparently," Machiavelli said, trying to play it off, but the outlaw saw right through him.

"Hey, querido, why didn't you tell me?"

"It's nothing, really. So, what's our next step?"

"Our next step is we get you back to the hotel," the Kid said immediately. "Come on," he said over Machiavelli's protests. "We don't know for sure that this is the place. We're not going to barge into some place without being sure."

"I guess so, but are you sure Billy? Cause it looks worse than it is."

"Of course I'm sure. Besides, what would we see without Perenelle. I wish I could help you, Mac."

"We'll just walk slowly. I think if I sit for a while, I'll be back to normal by tonight." He let the outlaw slip an arm around his waist though, knowing that there were a lot of people down here that might be offended by two men touching each other in public, but not caring.

"I'll make you lunch," Billy decided as they went. "We've been out here quite some time. I wonder if the others have made any progress?"

Their motel was six blocks down and ten blocks to the east. Machiavelli was rather relieved that they had decided to stop for the time being. He wanted nothing more than to take off his shoes right now.

"Wonder if anyone is here," Billy said curiously, when they finally got to their suite. Niccolo shrugged and shuffled over to the couch, which they'd folded up for the day. He flopped down, letting out a little moan. The American immortal checked all the bedrooms before sitting in front of him Indian style. "Can't risk anything too provocative," he explained, "but I'll give you a foot rub."

"That would be nice," Machiavelli said, watching Billy unlace his shoes. He'd forgotten that Billy was quite a good masseur. Starting with his right foot, the Kid applied just enough pressure to take away the aching feeling.

"This reminds me of when I was lost in that canyon," the outlaw commented. "My feet ached after that."

"Except that was like a thousand times worse," the tactician protested. "Your shoes didn't fit right, wasn't that the case? And you were wandering around for a long time. I'm just out of shape apparently."

"You're not out of shape, Mac. You're fit as a fiddle." Leaning forward, Billy kissed his knee. "I love you, Mac."

"Si, ti amo."

Black Hawk came back just as Billy was finishing with Machiavelli's left foot. "Lazing around?" he drawled.

"Billy made us walk the entire length of the city twice," Niccolo complained.

"Trying to torture our Italian friend?" Black Hawk asked Billy, flopping down next to said Italian immortal and grinning at the youngest immortal.

"I didn't realize you were in such bad condition," the Kid protested, looking up at his boyfriend with such an earnest expression that Machiavelli didn't have the heart to tease him even slightly.

"I know. Are you still thinking of making lunch?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll go get us something. We don't have a lot in the fridge… Want something Black Hawk?"

"Yeah, anything at this point, Bill."

Machiavelli listened to the Kid's steps retreating down the hallway. "What have you been doing today?" he asked mildly, looking over at his companion.

Black Hawk stretched, yawned, and adjusted himself unabashedly. "When I was touring with Germain, I'd heard tell that a friend of Billy's and mine was living nearby. So I went to find him. He's living in the northern part of town. Took all morning to find him- he likes to keep to himself- but he said that he'd come visit in a day or so."

"Would I know him?"

"I'm sure you've heard of Langston."

"Langston Hughes? The poet?"

"That's the one." Black Hawk nodded. "He'll come through. Like most everyone who meets Billy, he adored him."

Billy came back with wraps from across the street. The three men stayed relatively to themselves as they ate. After lunch, they broke up again. Billy insisted that Machiavelli rest in the suite for the afternoon. He was planning on bringing Black Hawk back to the house they'd marked before. "I'll swing back here and get you for dinner, Mac," he promised. "We're going to meet the others at some restaurant."

"Really, William, I think I'm fine to go with you." But Billy shook his head. "Okay, okay," he grumbled. "I'll be waiting here for you."

"I'll come get you about six or six thirty," Billy promised.

So Machiavelli spent the day sitting in front of the Kid's laptop- they never had fixed his, he mentally sighed- and looked up whatever information he could get from the internet about his boyfriend. It was a very strange feeling, finding out stuff about the man he loved like this. He felt that for the most part, Billy would obviously be the better source for information, but on the other hand… perhaps historians would have found out something about his early life that the American immortal might have forgotten.

All in all, he didn't learn very much, at least not new information. Some sites he went on expounded upon falsehoods that made his blood boil. Some websites talked about Billy's legendary temper. He couldn't imagine his even keeled boyfriend murdering 21 people, especially for pleasure.

Still, most websites were fan sites. He wondered if Billy knew that so many people idolized him. He had to laugh a little. There certainly weren't any Machiavelli fan websites, he felt quite sure of that…

He had gotten so engrossed in his search for information that when the real Billy the Kid burst into their living room, he jumped violently. "What's the matter?" he demanded, feeling ridiculous.

"Aw, honey, I didn't mean to scare you. It's just that I'm later than I said I'd be. I thought I was keeping you waiting! What are you looking at? Porn?"

"Of course not! I was doing some research for you," Machiavelli protested. He put a hand over his heart, feeling the beating slowing down again. "I lost track of time…"

"You're the best, Mac. I love you." Billy gave him a quick kiss, then pulled him to his feet. "Come on, though! We're going to be late for meeting the others. How's your leg?"

"It's… it's better, I guess. I've been sitting for hours. It doesn't hurt anymore."

"Good, good," the outlaw said distractedly. Grabbing his hand, he pulled him over to the elevator. "We're just eating at the restaurant down the block. You won't have to walk much anyways."

"Did you find out anything?"

"We think the house might be uninhabited." Billy hesitated. "We might sneak in. I don't know. We'll have to see what the others are thinking…"

"I was looking at some maps of Wichita from the 19th century. I'll have to show you after dinner…"

"Yeah, definitely… Hey, have you ever read Mario Benedetti?" Billy asked, walking along beside him and bumping shoulders with him. "He's not very well known to English speakers, though he wrote in twenty different languages- can you imagine that, Mac- but in Spanish, he's a very important poet."

"I must admit my Spanish has always been rather rusty," Machiavelli commented. Billy pointed out the restaurant they'd be eating at. They made their way past the lobby and saw the others at a big booth in the back corner. Joining the others, they were momentarily sidetracked from their conversation.

"We ordered for you," Black Hawk told them idly, moving over so that Billy could squeeze in next to him.

"What did we get?" the Kid asked, distracted.

"We got you a burger and for Niccolo, a steak, medium rare," Perenelle commented, sipping her glass of wine.

"Ah, you know us well." Billy grinned happily at the table, lightly beating out a rhythm on the table.

"So did you figure out anything today?" Fred asked, looking around Black Hawk.

"I figured out that Wichita has really grown since I lived here," Billy said, sounding a little unhappy but also resigned. "I was looking for where I used to live, but the topography has changed."

"We think we found some old maps that might help," Fred said, leaning on the table and indicating himself and Perenelle. "We stopped by the Wichita historical society."

"We probably should have just done that right away," Machiavelli murmured, but only Perenelle heard him.

"I thought I'd be able to see it still, the way things were," Billy said dully.

Wanting to cheer Billy up, or at least distract him, Machiavelli changed the subject. "Why were you asking me about Mario Benedetti?"

"Ah, I was reading some of his poetry at lunch," the Kid said quietly, a lot shier now. "I came across one I thought you'd like. I wrote it down… uh…" He patted his pockets, looking for the poem. "Here!"

He handed it across to Machiavelli, watching him as he read it. Machiavelli tried his best to read the Spanish: "Pero tú, por favor, no te vayas." He looked up trying to translate it based on the similarities between Italian and Spanish. "But you…"

"But you, please, don't go," Billy said quietly.

Machiavelli smiled, tucking the little poem into his pocket. He felt warm all over and tried to contain his excitement. He looked over to where Black Hawk and Fred had been arguing over the basketball game playing on the television behind him. Black Hawk caught his eye and then looked over at Billy. "Hey, kid, why do you look so down? You think you were going to figure out everything the first day?"

"No, but…"

"I've got plans for us tonight that will cheer you up. You should come too, Nick!"

Machiavelli blinked. Nobody had ever dared call him Nick before. Before he could figure out what to say, Billy cut in. "Am I going to like these plans?"

Black Hawk threw an easy arm over Billy's shoulder. "Course you will!" Ruffling the outlaw's hair, he planted a kiss on the side of his head and let him go.

"Are we all going?"

"Not me or Perenelle," Fred demurred.

Billy reached across the table for the Frenchwoman. "Am I going to like these plans?"

"I can't say."

"Can't say cause you don't know that I will like them or because Black Hawk is holding something over your head?" Billy said, somewhat more accusatively than was needed, Machiavelli felt. The Italian was sure that this was another of Black Hawk's harebrained schemes but knew that they would end up having fun in the end.

"A little of both," she said, looking over to Black Hawk.

"You're going to like it," he insisted.

"We'll go," Machiavelli decided for both him and Billy. "Whatever it is, I'm sure it will take your mind off today," he said magnanimously, smiling at the outlaw. And Billy couldn't argue with that.


	76. Chapter 76

AN: Hi everyone, My life has become pretty busy this past month or so. I was wondering what the general opinion was- would you like me to update on a weekly basis with shorter chapters like this one or somewhat less frequently, but have them closer to the normal length? Appreciate the feedback- sorry if it seems like I haven't been interested in updating. I haven't lost interest!

* * *

"You said that we were going to a local dance show," Billy hissed, leaning across Machiavelli to shoot an accusing glance at the Native American immortal.

"This is local and what do you call that?" Black Hawk argued, gesturing to the stage in front of them.

"This is- this is," Billy stammered, casting a glance in the same direction. "This is not what I had in mind…"

In front of them, three women danced topless, swaying and shaking to a rhythm which was apparently inside of their heads as they moved independently of each other. The red head in front of them grabbed her breasts suggestively and swung around, grinning wickedly at the outlaw. He blushed furiously and looked over at Machiavelli. "Mac? Don't you have something you want to say?"

"Nah, I'm good." Machiavelli was sitting one leg crossed stylishly over the other. He was watching the dancers with mild interest. Billy punched his arm. "Ah! I mean, this is very wrong Black Hawk. Clearly wrong. But why?" he asked the Kid. Next to him, the Native American laughed.

"These girls are… and… you know.."

"Another cogent argument," Niccolo murmured.

The Kid threw a glance over at the women before looking at Machiavelli again. The Italian immortal returned the look, a faint smile on his lips. Billy knew the older man was teasing him, but he couldn't help feeling a little… he didn't know what he was feeling, exactly. Guilty? Maybe a little. He didn't want to watch the show before him because he didn't want to be attracted to women, not right now when he had Niccolo. ' _What would Mac think of me_?' he wondered.

Machiavelli took advantage of a particularly loud song to lean over slightly and whisper in his ear, "Don't be so nervous. We're still human." He touched Billy's knee, perhaps feeling safe doing so with the dim lighting of the room around them.

Billy sucked in breath, feeling the Italian immortal's large hand touching his inner thigh. He covered Machiavelli's hand with his- he could feel himself getting aroused. He didn't know if it was Machiavelli touching him, the dancers, or a strange combination of both, but he felt a wave of nervousness and desire threaten to overwhelm him.

The tactician squeezed gently, ran his thumb over Billy's erection and let go again. Looking over, the outlaw saw a big smile across Machiavelli's face as he gazed up at a new set of dancers. To watch the Italian, one might think they were at an opera showing or perhaps a fashion show in Paris. He had the quiet appreciation of someone observing a piece of fine art. Perhaps the women in front of them noticed this aura of elegance because they seemed to cater to the Italian specifically in their group, largely ignoring a man on the other side of the platform who- Billy wrinkled his nose in disgust- was wearing a pair of sweatpants which didn't seem to have been washed recently.

"Which one do you like?" Black Hawk yelled in his ear, his voice somehow lost among the competing noise from the jukebox in the corner and the overall senseless beat being piped in over the intercoms.

Billy wanted to say 'none of them,' but that would only raise suspicions in his dark friend. He looked at the two women on the stage right now. A dark skinned beauty was kneeling in front of the other woman, kissing her way up the other's thigh. The girl who was standing was her polar opposite- pale, plain, and rather bored to guess from her expression… "The one who's kneeling," he said, feeling himself blush again. He hoped Black Hawk couldn't see that.

"Ah, good choice. I'm getting a drink." Black Hawk hit him on the shoulder in what Billy assumed was an affectionate gesture. Feeling his shoulder go slightly numb, Billy nodded.

As soon as the Native American immortal was out of hearing range, the Kid turned in his seat to look at Machiavelli. "Why are you torturing me?" he demanded, speaking as quietly as he could.

"Is this really torture?" his boyfriend asked. "I thought you fancied yourself a boob man."

"I'm dating you. I don't want to see anybody else." Machiavelli looked over at him; Billy could tell that he'd piqued the other man's interest. They had maybe five minutes before Black Hawk came back. "We just haven't discussed the boundaries of our relationship. I figured… I figured you wanted me faithful to you."

"Of course I do, but I don't think of things like this as you being unfaithful. I never expected you to stop watching porn or to not be attracted to other people. I just want you to love only me," Machiavelli said mildly. "Does it really bother you, being in here? I was just teasing you before. You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah, yeah. I understand that. I mean, of course this is intriguing. It's just that," he scanned the room, "you're the only one I love. You know that Mac. I don't need anybody else."

"That's sweet Billy, really it is. But just don't think you have to change on my account. I know that no matter what, you'll be coming home with me."

Billy blinked, then broke into a beaming smile. "I will be. I wish we could have shared a bed though. How'd we end up separated?"

"I actually expected no less from this trip. Maybe it'll really make you focus," Machiavelli joked. "Here's Black Hawk," he said, grinning up at the tallest immortal. "Get lost?"

"Ha ha," Black Hawk quipped back. "The bar's three deep. And what a rip off too- nine dollars for a beer? I don't think so. Having fun, kiddo?" he asked Billy, giving the youngest immortal a little shake.

"Sure, tons of fun," Billy said sarcastically. He yawned wide and put his head on Machiavelli's shoulder. In front of them, the dancer seemed to have finally figured out what was going on with her audience. Her eyes widening, she looked interested for the first time that night. Realizing his mistake, Billy straightened up again, looking at Black Hawk with a tired expression. "I'm jet lagged Black Hawk."

"Did you enjoy it a little?" he asked, getting to his feet and pulling Billy up.

"Oh sure. Another grand adventure," the outlaw yawned. "But I'm so sleepy…"

"You know I can't believe you agreed to come," Black Hawk told Machiavelli, falling behind to walk beside the Italian immortal.

"To be fair, you didn't tell us where you were bringing us. I wasn't exactly prepared to jump from the moving car when I saw where you were pulling in. It would have been bad for the suit, after all." Billy could hear the two of them continue to banter as they approached their rental car. He climbed gratefully in the backseat, feeling the throbbing in his head finally begin to lessen as they got away from the strip club.

"Don't fall asleep back there," Black Hawk called. "I'm not carrying you back to the room." Billy mumbled indistinctly; even he didn't know what he'd intended to say with that last garble of words. He could feel himself dozing off and he sat up, trying to focus on what Mac was saying. He was fading nonetheless, drifting into a dream world where Machiavelli and him had been in love for years, had kids maybe… that would be nice, he decided. He closed his eyes.


	77. Chapter 77

They spent the afternoon poring over the combined maps that Machiavelli, Perenelle, and Fred had found the prior day. They'd estimated that Billy would have lived in the city in 1866 or so based on his age; the closest map they could find to that date was a civil war map from 1864. Black Hawk didn't entirely trust the authenticity of this map as they were often changed during the war years to confuse enemies who might get their hands on them. Because of this, they were checking the map against one that Fred had found from 1854 and trying to project later developments on it from there.

Machiavelli was beginning to get a headache from all the cross checking; similarly, Billy was beginning to look a little rag tag. Fred and Black Hawk, on the other hand, seemed to have finally found something they were invested in. The two of them made careful notations on the copy of the 1864 map, scrawling notes in the margins. When it seemed like they had been at it for hours, Fred took a blank sheet of paper out and began to sketch a new map.

"What are you doing?" Billy asked, his voice tired and a bit muffled by a hand he'd been keeping in front of it.

"Making a truer copy of this map."

"What do you mean?" The Kid sat forward, blinking wearily.

"We've fixed a lot of the ways they changed the map to make it harder for non-residents to interpret. See, they changed the land distribution and the whole thing's inverted, you can tell by the direction the map is unfurling… You said the river was nearby the laundry where you lived?"

"It seemed nearby," Billy said, sounding uncertain. "But I was young and ran pretty wild… it could have been farther away.

"Well, we looked up all the registered laundries from the 1860s. You've got those, don't you?" Black Hawk asked, looking up at the Frenchwoman who nodded and withdrew a parcel of papers. She handed them to him. Squinting at the original map, he began to make x's on the map that Fred had drawn. "You said you lived on North Main Street… look here," he pointed to one of the marked areas. "There's the only laundry on that street for that decade. And here's the house you found," he said, pulling over a modern map of the city.

Billy studied the two maps. "It looks like roughly the same area?" he asked uncertainly. But the laundry was further off the road. It overlaps a little with where the house is now… This was where I lived?"

"So you did find the right house." Machiavelli patted Billy on the back. "I told you that you would."

"We also think you should check out this place," Perenelle said, breaking in at last. She handed the outlaw a printout; Machiavelli scooted over so he could read it too. It was a Civil War museum, small to judge from the brochure before them, but dedicated towards the years where the states were at war with one each other. Billy quirked his eyebrows at her. "There might be ghosts gathered there who would know your father. If he passed through this city, he might have left traces behind…"

They were quiet, each lost in their own research. Finally, Machiavelli sat back, rubbing at his eyes. He felt like this particular exercise had aged him, at least temporarily. Cracking his neck absently, he looked over at the taller Native American immortal. "Have you gotten a hold of your friend?" he asked Black Hawk, remembering their conversation from yesterday.

"What friend?" Billy interrupted, perking up. He'd been slumped over the last of the documents, a copy of a book from the local library which detailed the Civil War battles in the area. Shaking his head like a dog getting out of a pool, he looked between his best friend and his boyfriend.

"Langston. And yes."

"Is he still around here?" Billy asked, brightening. "I didn't know that! Did you talk to him? Is he coming?"

"I spoke with him yesterday. He's going to come visit before we leave. Maybe tomorrow. It's not taking us very long here, after all."

Billy nodded, seeming to deflate a little. "That's cause there's nothing to find here."

Black Hawk thumped the outlaw on the back. "Don't be such a Debbie Downer. We haven't even begun to look yet."

"I suppose..." Billy said dubiously.

"I think we should search that house that you found," Perenelle cut in. "Tonight."

That stopped all the men in their tracks. They looked at the female immortal in surprise. "Tonight?" Billy asked, looking apprehensive. "Doesn't that seem… hasty?" He looked around at the group of them. "I mean… we don't even know if it's occupied. We could be breaking into someone's home."

"But Fred and I spent several hours with you yesterday, watching that house," Black Hawk pointed out. "Nobody came or left in all that time. Besides, does it really look occupied?"

Billy looked unconvinced, but reluctantly agreed to go along with the plan.

~MB~

Niccolo himself had his reservations about this plan, but felt that they were going to have do go forward with it at some point. It wasn't as though they hadn't laid out a series of steps to ensure their success along the way either. Listening to the other three male immortals that afternoon had reminded him for the first time in a while that they each had extensive histories with law breaking, or bending, as Billy liked to call it. Now, as he walked swiftly into the back yard, he felt like he had to say something to the outlaw.

"You sure you don't want me to keep watch outside and have Black Hawk come in with you?" Machiavelli whispered as they made their way through the dark yard. "I think either of the others would be better suited to-."

"Nah, Mac, I need you with me. Here, give me a boost. You're the tallest of us."

They were looking up at a high window which had been left open. Machiavelli felt a sense of foreboding, but laced his hands together nonetheless and held them out for Billy, who put his right boot in the step the Italian had made. With a funny little bounce, the Kid pushed off on his shoulders and wriggled into the window. It was good that Billy was so lithe because there wasn't a lot of extra space to fit through. The outlaw's cowboy boot swung out of sight.

Outside, in the dark yard, Perenelle and Niccolo looked at each other, waiting… waiting. With a soft click and then a screeching sound that seemed to echo throughout the night, the door swung open. "Sorry," Billy whispered apologetically. "It's really loud. Wish we had thought to bring some WD-40…"

"There was no way to think up everything beforehand," Machiavelli said quietly and, coming from him, this was saying something. The Italian had always striven to prepare himself for anything but, he thought as he eased into the house they were now breaking and entering into, _'you can't truly imagine everything that's going to happen in the future.'_ He certainly hadn't imagined even a week ago that he'd be searching an old house in the middle of the night, though he should have supposed that he might; anything was possible, wasn't it, when you were in love with someone like Billy.

"S'dark," Billy whispered. "Think it will be noticeable if we use the flashlights on our phones?"

"Maybe if we use just one," Machiavelli suggested. "Is there a way to dim them? I've never had the problem of needing less light…"

"Actually," Perenelle broke in, her eyes sweeping around the room. "If there are any ghosts here, when I peel away the protective layers of my aura, they will come and light the house in such a way that we won't really need the flashlight at all."

Next to him, Machiavelli could feel Billy shiver. He was learning that the American immortal was not at all keen on the thought of spirits. Reaching out a hand, he squeezed Billy's. "Where?" he asked the Frenchwoman.

She walked hesitantly through a little hallway into what looked like it had once been a living room. Making her way carefully across the room- the floor squeaked dangerously under her feet- she looked out the window. This window was facing the back yard. A line of trees to the left blocked their view of the road. "This room," she decided.

Machiavelli drew away from the Sorceress, giving her room; he backed up so that he was standing beside his lover. He took Billy's hand and gave it a squeeze. The Kid hung on for a minute and then wrapped his arms around the Italian's waist. Machiavelli could feel the goosebumps on the outlaw's arms. Not sure if it was cold or fear or nerves, he pulled Billy close to him.

With a crackle, Perenelle's aura illuminated the tenebrosity. Billy tightened his grip- the room seemed to plunge several degrees- and the dust sparkled around them in the air, suspended and looking like snowflakes as each particle caught the glancing rays of white streaming off the female immortal in front of them. And then-

The light faded as quickly as it came. Niccolo blinked, touching his eyes to try to make the stars fade from them. They were all quiet, listening for any new sounds, new presences around them. Billy squeezed his middle. "Hear anything?" he asked.

"No… I don't hear something, but…" Perenelle trailed off, moving towards a door that was behind the two men, a passageway they hadn't even noticed before, which was now faintly outlined by light flitting out through the crack below the door. Shadows were moving around behind the door, making the light ebb and flow. Machiavelli felt all the hairs stand up on his arm now. Though he'd never been afraid of spirits, he sincerely wished they were elsewhere. The three of them moved quietly across the room, approaching the door, and with a quick look behind her, Perenelle pushed it open.

There was a steep stairway leading down to what appeared to be an old cellar. Perenelle raised her eyebrows; they nodded. The Frenchwoman made to go first, but Billy waved to her and pointed at himself- he would go first. Machiavelli went next, then Perenelle.

The room they were descending into was small and lined with stone. There weren't any windows. Billy got down to the second step from last, turned to see the room, and- with a loud crunching noise- leapt backwards away from whatever he saw. Machiavelli, whose nerves were already tightly wound, grabbed Billy around the shoulders and pulled him backwards, moving his body in front of the American to keep him safe. "Come back here," he ordered. "What was that crunching noise?"

"It's fine. It's okay," Billy said weakly, massaging his heart. "I was just surprised. Nothing's wrong."

"But what was the noise?"

"Just the step breaking from where I jumped back," the outlaw whispered. "It's okay… it's just a bit of a shock, is all…"

"What's a shock?" Machiavelli asked, but Billy had stepped forward and the Italian immortal had no choice but to step over the missing stair and follow him down. He saw immediately what had startled the American- the room was full of spirits. Low ceilinged and rather small, there must have been thirty men packed together, men covered with soot, their clothes in tatters.

"Hello," Billy said tentatively, looking like he wished he was anywhere but here.

"Whatchu want?" one man whispered in a hoarse voice. "Why are you here…" Every word sounded painful.

"You can see us?" another man gasped, shuffling forward, as if to reach out to them.

"Yes. We're looking for my mother. She used to work here? Years ago?" Billy asked desperately. "Can you see the others? She was young. Pretty. She looked like me…"

The man in the front shook his head, his face impassive. "We never leave this room… There's a fire upstairs. We're trying to get the bulkhead open," he gestured behind them.

"Ah… well, we're going to go now. Sorry to disturb you." They all went up the stairs quickly. Billy shut the door quickly behind them, leaning against it, and looking like he was going to be sick. "That was… that was terrible."

"They must have been workers in that workshop fire we read about," Machiavelli suggested, feeling a little worse for the wear himself. "The house had to be rebuilt in certain spots…"

"Let's go upstairs," Perenelle decided, drawing her jacket closer around her. The tactician saw her glance edgily at the door they'd just left behind.

They were far more careful examining the rest of the house, but they needn't have bothered. The entire bottom floor was empty of spirits, something Machiavelli felt intensely thankful for. He felt a slight twinge of guilty- they were supposed to be finding Billy's mother and the absence of other spirits didn't help them- but he guessed from the way that Billy looked that the Kid wasn't exactly upset to find the rooms around them deserted either.

The documents they'd been reading had led them to believe that the majority of the house was the same one that Billy had lived in as a child- the creaking and cracking noises of the floor beneath them certainly spoke to that- but as they moved through the place they were forced to face the fact that the majority of the building must have been destroyed in the fire, eliminating past traces of spiritual activity.

Finally, there was only two rooms left to search. Perenelle went into the small room, which was full of old furniture covered in white sheets. The two men went into the last room, which was deceptively large. They split up. Machiavelli was looking for traces near the front of the house; Billy disappeared into a corner.

He couldn't find anything that would help them and he supposed that it made sense; Billy hadn't lived here for hundreds of years and in that time, dozens of people had lived and worked in these rooms. Finally, he had to give up. Getting up, he felt a curious mixture of relief that they would be leaving this place and regret that he hadn't really helped his boyfriend. Still, there was Billy and soon they would be out of this house and he could take a hot bath…The knowledge of that conclusion made him feel practically giddy.

"Boo," Machiavelli joked lightly, coming up behind Billy.

He had to guess that the layer of dust on the floor had muffled his footsteps because he had thought the American immortal had noticed him coming up behind him; Billy's reaction, on the other hand, indicated otherwise. With a shout, he jumped backwards. There was a second awful splintering sound, then the outlaw's foot plunged through the floor as the rotting baseboard gave way.

"Oh, shit, caro," the Italian swore, rushing forward.

"Oh, Mac, it's just you," Billy said in surprise, relief and pain mingling on his features as he grabbed onto the tactician's shoulder to keep himself upright. He was dangerously close to pitching forward. He tried to tug his leg up and out to no avail. "My foot… went through the floor. Can you pull me out honey?"

"Yes, si, of course. I'm never joking with you again," Niccolo moaned, kneeling and trying to carefully work the outlaw's foot out of the hole. The noise had brought Perenelle rushing in from across the hall. She helped Billy balance and with a powerful wrench, Machiavelli pulled away enough of the crumbling wood around Billy's leg that they were able to pull him up and out.

"What happened?" the Frenchwoman asked.

"Had a bit of an accident," Billy mumbled. "No big deal."

"It was my fault. I'm sorry," Machiavelli said from his place on the floor. "I'm the worst human being ever."

"That seems a little harsh, Mac," Billy said breathlessly. "If it had happened to anybody else, I'd probably find this funny. Hell, in a day or so, I'll probably find it funny." He smiled through gritted teeth. "After I forget about those guys downstairs…"

"I don't think we were going to find anything here anyways," Perenelle broke in.

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking. Lots of creepy stuff around here, but nothing useful. I'm not sure I like knowing about all the dead people that have been liv- well, existing in the same places as where we live. Freaks me out a bit."

"I'm so sorry, angelo," Machiavelli said for the umpteenth time. "Sorry, sorry, sorry."

Billy hopped along beside him. "It's okay. It's not like you pushed me through the floor." He paused for a moment, leaning heavily on the tactician. "Actually, I think most of the damage came from me trying to get my leg out of the hole."

"I'm still very sorry," the Italain apologized. "I'll wait on you every day until you get better."

"Oh, Mac," Billy sighed. "You already take care of me all the time. Besides, my ankle's not really sprained, I don't think; anyways, my aura will fix it. It's just a little swollen right now. That's all. In fact, I think I'll be able to put weight on it again." He stopped leaning on Machiavelli and slowly shifted his center of gravity back to almost where it normally was. "See?"

Machiavelli looked at him critically. "You're not standing normally."

"Oh, right. It'll be fine." Billy shifted all the way over and jumped back onto one foot. He threw his arms around Machiavelli's neck. "Not fine! Not fine." He whimpered slightly.

"Ohh," Machiavelli groaned in sympathy. "It's okay. We're not far from the hotel. I'm going to take care of you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He looked over at the Frenchwoman. "Do you want to go ahead of us and get them to bring the car closer?" She nodded and disappeared down the stairs. "Okay, we'll get you down the stairs. This is the worst thing I've ever done to you, William…"

"Mac, can I say something?"

Machiavelli stopped, one foot on the top stair. He held Billy by the waist. "Certo."

"Please stop apologizing."

He hesitated. "I'll try."

"Good, cause it really wasn't your fault, silly. I was just really focused on what I was looking at. I think I even looked over and saw you at one point, I just didn't really process it, you know?"

"What were you looking at?"

"There were some boxes in the closet there, but it was just a lot of old machinery parts… Nothing too useful, from the looks of it." He yawned. "Isn't this ironic?" he continued tiredly, hobbling on his good leg and clutching at Machiavelli almost painfully.

"What's ironic?"

"I thought that it was going to be your legs causing trouble this trip. And then I end up going through floor." Sneaking back out of the back door, they made their way to where Perenelle was waiting for them among the bushes.

"I texted them to come closer, but I'm not sure they got it as they are still pretty far down the road," she said quietly, speaking more to Machiavelli than Billy at this point. "They haven't moved yet."

Niccolo looked down the road to where he could just make out their rental car. His heart sank. It was several hundred feet away. "William, are you sure you don't want me to pick you up? The car's down the block still."

"Nah, we're almost there," he panted. "Perenelle? You still there?"

"Of course, mon cher. You've just got a little more to go," she told him, exchanging a worried look with the Italian. "Here we are. Why don't you go in the middle, Niccolo? Then we'll put a Billy in."

"What the hell happened to him?" Black Hawk asked, getting out of the car. He helped get Billy into the seat.

"We think he twisted his ankle," Machiavelli said, reaching across Billy to buckle him in. "I'll tell you when we get back. We'll put some ice on your ankle, caro. You'll be okay."

"I'm not worried," the Kid told him, but he looked very pale. "It just twinges a bit."

Black Hawk drove them as close as he could to the hotel lobby. "You going to be okay getting him upstairs?" he asked the Italian immortal, sounding doubtful. Machiavelli nodded and waved as he pulled Billy into the lobby.

"Let's just get you to the elevator," he said quietly, Perenelle trailing behind him.

"Are you okay, sir?" There was a hotel worker looking at the outlaw with great concern. He looked at her young face and smiled painfully. "Just took a nasty spill. Found a slippery sidewalk. Going to go put some ice on it now."

They excused themselves. The minute the elevator doors closed behind them, Billy flung his arms around Machiavelli, apparently past the point of caring what Perenelle might think. "Billy, kid, are you sure you only sprained your ankle?" Machiavelli asked anxiously, looking at the outlaw's white face.

"Sprained it, twisted it, I don't know." Wrapping his arm around Billy's waist, Niccolo took most of his weight, absently patting him on the behind. Perenelle leaned against the wall, looking tired. All three of them were covered in dirt. Machiavelli had to imagine that they looked quite a fright. No wonder that hotel worker had stopped them.

Their suite was on the seventh floor. Machiavelli's prayers to get there unnoticed went unanswered apparently. On the fourth floor the doors opened to reveal a little family of four. They looked at the group of immortals with some apprehension. "Sprained his ankle," Machiavelli explained, offering a little smile which they did not return.

"We'll wait for another elevator," the mother said faintly.

"Suit yourself," Billy said, jabbing the door close button again. "Self-righteous, much?" he asked as soon as the door was closed. "You'd think they'd never seen two men hugging."

"This is Kansas, they probably haven't." Machiavelli didn't waste his breath adding that this deep into the South, people were definitely not prepared to see two men who were covered in dirt, clinging to each other in their hotel elevator. He had a feeling Billy wasn't in the mood.

They finally got to the seventh floor and Machiavelli surprised Billy by picking him up entirely. He was surprised at how easily he could hold the other immortal as he wasn't the strongest man alive. He concluded that it must have been Billy's light frame that made it easy for him to carry the man. "I'll let you lead the way," he told Perenelle. "We'll need the door open. Thank god we have a room close to the elevator."

"You're stronger than I thought you'd be, Mac," Billy said bemusedly. Wrapping his arms around Machiavelli's shoulders, he hung on for dear life.

"I wouldn't exactly be able to carry you miles, but I can carry you a little bit." He put Billy down as gently as he could on the couch. "Here you go, caro." He couldn't help but kiss Billy's forehead. "I'm going to take your shoes off. It'll probably hurt a little bit."

"S'okay."

"I'm going to take a quick shower," Perenelle sighed, getting up again. She patted Billy on the shoulder. "Be right back, mon coeur." They nodded. She tossed Machiavelli a bottle of aspirin from her purse; he caught it deftly and took one out, handing it the American.

"Ouch, that really does hurt."

"Sorry, dear." Machiavelli tugged as gently as he could on the outlaw's cowboy boots, easing them off his bad foot. "Just a little more… little more… There we go. Sorry, bello…"

"What does 'bello' mean, Mac?"

"Bello? Beautiful. As in 'sei bello'- you're beautiful. Mio bel amore," he continued, a shy smile on his face that was matched by Billy in spades.

They heard a rattle at the door and moved apart; Black Hawk and Fred came in. "You wouldn't believe the problems with that parking lot. Okay, so what happened?" Black Hawk asked, coming over to sit on the coffee table which wobbled under his bulk.

"I just fell. Really, nothing important."

"I think it's twisted," Machiavelli commented.

"What happened exactly?" Fred asked, getting a bag of ice out of the minibar and handing it to Billy, who turned very slowly and propped his leg up on the couch. Stretching, he put the bag on his ankle, which was swelling rapidly.

"We were looking around the second floor and the floor collapsed under me. Stupid foot got stuck in the hole… It's been a rough night."

"I'm surprised you manage to walk all the way up here." Black Hawk said. "It's the size of a softball now," he pointed out.

"Mac carried me the last hundred feet," the Kid moaned.

"You carried him? You?" Machiavelli thought the amount of surprise in Black Hawk's voice was a little insulting. "Me," he agreed. "I'm just that rugged." Even Billy laughed at this. "We should get you out of these dirty clothes."

"I can get rid of the shirt at least," Billy said, sitting up. He pulled it up over his head and then, laying back, undid his belt and jeans. "Leave me my skivvies though, would you?"

"Course. I mean no one wants to see you in your briefs," Black Hawk agreed, leaning over him.

"I wouldn't say that," Billy argued, grinning maniacally. "Right, Mac?"

Saying nothing, Machiavelli bent over to untie his shoes, making kind of a meal out of undoing the laces. "Stop teasing him," Black Hawk said sternly, smacking Billy on the arm. "You're putting him out."

"Mac knows I'm just kidding, don't you, honey?"


	78. Chapter 78

Billy hobbled into Machiavelli's bedroom the next morning. Niccolo was just beginning to wake up; he gazed at the American immortal blearily. "What time is it?" he rasped.

The Kid sat on the edge of his bed, smiling broadly down at him. "It's still pretty early. About nine o'clock, I guess."

Machiavelli rolled over partially and looked to his right. Fred's side of the bed was empty and pulled into some semblance of an order. He was confused as to why he was the last one awake, and also, why Billy was still clearly favoring his right foot over his left. "What's going on? Where are the others?"

"Perenelle's in the kitchen making breakfast and she asked me to come get you. But I would have volunteered anyways," Billy said, whispering the last part. "I miss sleeping with you. There's nobody to cuddle…" His bright blue eyes roved the area right next to the Italian immortal but then there was a loud clanging from the kitchen and he jumped up, looking slightly guilty. "I miss…"

"I miss you too." Dragging a hand out from beneath the covers, Machiavelli made a motion for the American immortal to come closer. Billy dipped down quick enough to steal a quick kiss, though both men broke it off rather early, afraid of being discovered. Getting up and limping over to Machiavelli's side of the closet, the Kid began to take clothes out for the tall immortal. "Black Hawk and Fred went to find Langston," he continued, as though there had been no distraction. "I'm glad you're meeting him. He was a great guy. Super smart. You're going to like him. You'll have someone to keep up with your smarts for once."

"That's what I have you for," Machiavelli protested, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Billy laughed. "I mean it," he called indignantly.

"Sure, I know you mean it, Mac, but we can't pretend I'm anywhere in your league," the outlaw said cheerfully, without turning around.

Niccolo wanted to argue more about this point, but also wanted to talk to Billy while he could. They didn't have much time… how long would really be believable for the outlaw to wake him up? He plunged forward. "Why are you still limping? Why didn't your aura fix it?"

Billy looked down at his foot, frowning slightly. "I think I'm still just a little run down from our last adventure," he said mildly. "It's better than it was last night… It'll heal in due time."

"I can heal it," Niccolo said, coming to stand beside him.

Billy had to look up to look into the tactician's gray eyes. "Nah, Mac, it's not critical. It'll right itself in a day or so. In the meantime, you can take care of me." He waggled his eyebrows, giving the Italian immortal his best enticing look. "I like it when you do."

Machiavelli couldn't help but grin shyly at him. "I'll always take care of you," he promised.

There was a little half smile on Billy's face as he turned away. "I believe it," he said, waving his hand as he made his way towards the door. "I'll tell Perenelle you're awake."

~MB~

Black Hawk called them mid-afternoon to say that they'd gotten back to the city with their friend. Billy got up from the couch, wobbling a little as he stretched his legs. "Coming, Mac? Perenelle?"

"Sure," the Frenchwoman agreed, putting down a tome that she'd been perusing.

"How about my Mac?"

"Your Mac?" Niccolo asked smoothly, getting up and taking his suit coat off the back of his chair. "Since when am I yours?"

The Kid hopped along on his good leg. "You know you love me," he said teasingly.

"I feel no such thing," Machiavelli argued, not sure why he was pushing back on this. He smiled at the outlaw to show that there were no hard feelings, but part of him- and it wasn't to say that he didn't understand Billy- part of him didn't want the American immortal to joke about this when he wasn't willing to be honest with the others.

Something of what was flashing through his mind must have shown on his face because Billy looked sorry and Machiavelli knew the minute he saw this, that it wasn't what he wanted the outlaw to feel. Of course, Billy had his reservations… he knew that… "Naturally, I love you," he said at last, kissing the younger immortal on the cheek.

They got on the elevator, waiting for the doors to close. Billy's eyes were shining. "You're just saying that cause you sprained my ankle."

Machiavelli spluttered, looking over at the American immortal. "I did not. I didn't sprain his ankle," he said insistently to the Frenchwoman.

"This sounds like something you'll have to work out amongst yourselves," she said mildly, a smile curving on her lips.

"Mac loves me," Billy insisted from his spot on her right. "Not just because he did irreparable harm to my body but because of my charming demeanor and amazing good looks."

"Not to mention your impeccable sense of modesty," the Italian immortal shot back, leaning against the wall.

Billy grinning, huffing a little. He shrugged, smiling at the two European immortals. A minute later, the elevator dinged as they reached the main floor and the doors opened. He led the way across the lobby to the main seating area, clutching Machiavelli's arm almost painfully. He seemed cheery, but there was a definite undercurrent of pain in the way he moved which worried Niccolo a little.

"Let me fix it," he hissed.

"Not right now, querido."

They approached the little group sitting by the indoor waterfall. Black Hawk and Fred were deep in conversation with a well-dressed man. Black Hawk waved to them, seeing them approach, and the man stopped talking to turn and look at them.

Machiavelli got a good look as they approached, especially when the immortal stood, looking delighted to see Billy. Lanston Hughes was a short, light brown skinned man with close cropped hair. He'd forgone the mustache which characterized many of the pictures that the Italian immortal had seen of him, but remained impeccably dressed and distinctly stylish. Billy seemed to have noticed the similarities too. He murmured under his breath, "you and Langston can always talk about suits, if nothing else."

"Billy," he said warmly, reaching out his hand as they got there at last. "Look at you, kid, you haven't aged a day. He caressed Billy's face with one hand.

"You don't look so bad, yourself." Glancing to his side, Billy grinned at Machiavelli. "Let me introduce you. This is Niccolo Machiavelli. You've probably read his works before. And this is Perenelle Flamel…"

Machiavelli took a seat beside Fred, listening to the rest of them talk, but concentrating on the outlaw, his outlaw. There was something in the way the Kid looked at Langston which was complex. The poet was older than both of them at their current "ages", but there was something almost fatherly in the way Billy regarded the newest immortal which made him look much older.

When there was a break in the conversation, the Italian immortal leaned forward and addressed Langston. "How did you meet Billy?" Machiavelli asked, trying not to look too interested.

"I was living with my father down in Mexico, for a period of time back in 1919. Billy was down there, doing something for his master- I didn't know that at the time, of course- but he found me trying to run away. My father and I…" Langston trailed off. "We didn't get along very well. The Kid took care of me. I was always amazed by his willingness to look after me, even though we'd never met…"

"You took care of him?" Machiavelli asked, feeling a strange sense of jealousy as he looked over at Billy. He pushed down on the feeling, knowing that it was irrational.

"For a bit," the outlaw said quietly.

"For a couple of weeks," Langston corrected him. "He brought me back to my mother. I was afraid you were going to take me back to my father," he confessed, looking at Billy.

"No, I understand- I understood- what it felt like to have a father figure who was…"

"Frightening," Langston supplied. "Disappointing. Of course, I didn't know my mother very well either at that point. I had been raised by my grandmother," he clarified, seeing the look on Perenelle's face. "She died when I was thirteen. That was when I was brought to my father's place, but he wasn't… wasn't to my liking."

"So you ran away," Machiavelli surmised, beginning to see the similarities that would have drawn Billy to the young Langston.

"Yes, eventually, and then I got into a bit of trouble," he agreed, beginning to laugh. "Do you want to tell that story?" he asked, lightly kicking at Billy's knee, though mercifully not the injured leg.

Billy had the ghost of a grin on his face. "Langston, here… stole my car."

"The Thunderbird?" Perenelle gasped, putting a hand to her mouth.

"My Thunderbird," Billy agreed. "Everyone is always stealing my car. I understand that it's wonderful, but…" He scowled, but the rest of them laughed. "So Black Hawk and I were attempting to capture something that Quetzelcoatl wanted and we've been searching all day. We went into a little cantina to have dinner. We're sitting there. And the owner comes over to our table and says "Perdóname, pero tu coche se ha ido."

"Forgive me, but your car is missing," Black Hawk translated, laughing. "Billy stood up so fast the table turned over. I paid for the damages while this one took off running. And then I had to run after him."

"What were you planning to do, run after the car until you caught up?"

"That was the plan, yes."

Machiavelli glanced over at Billy, who was looking at him with barely suppressed laughter. A sly grin across his features, the American immortal tightened his lips over his teeth. Niccolo couldn't help it; a short bark of a laugh escaped him. "How did you catch up with him?"

"With my amazing physique."

"I hotwired a car," Black Hawk broke in. "And grabbed him on my way out of town."

"That too." He coughed. "I was going to kill whoever it was when we finally caught up to him, but we finally get him over on the side of the room without a way out and it's this little kid- ("I was seventeen," Langston objected)- this little kid who's stolen my car."

"I still thought you'd kill him," Black Hawk said, leaning back.

"But you didn't."

"No, cause you looked so small and miserable… and it reminded me of myself…"

"So we split up. Billy went with Langston and I continued on with our mission."

The poet nodded. "And Billy turned me around. It had been a long time since someone cared about me the way he did. You saved my life, handsome."

Billy blushed. "I wouldn't go that far. I just took you for a ride."

"And did you eventually make up with your father?" Machiavelli asked, thinking about his relationship with his own children and wondering, for the thousandth time, what they had thought of him after he had left.

Langston thought about it, rubbing at the bridge of his nose absently. "We always had a hard relationship. I suppose in some ways we reconciled, but it was a bumpy relationship until the end. He sent me to Columbia University to get an engineering degree… needless to say, I did not succeed. I think he was disappointed in me, but I resented him for pushing me down a path I clearly did not want to be on."

Machiavelli nodded, feeling an uncomfortable drop in his stomach. More and more, he thought of Ludovico, his obviously gay son. He hadn't been able to accept Ludo as he was… and now he was going to spend the rest of his life regretting it.

"I forgave my father eventually, you know." Langston had been watching him.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I did. Perhaps too late to make much of a difference, but I did." Langston patted him on the arm. "I like you, Mac. Billy's clearly very fond of you for good reason."


	79. Chapter 79

They had been in the city for three days when Langston brought them out to the Civil War Museum. Their group had now grown to the point where it was no longer comfortable for them to travel in the one rental car, so Billy, Machiavelli, and Black Hawk followed closely behind the other three who had taken Langston's 1932 Cadillac de Ville. Machiavelli was beginning to wonder what was it with American immortals and their old cars.

"That car makes your car look practically modern," Machiavelli said, leaning forward to talk to the immortals in the front seat.

"I may have instilled in Langston a taste for old cars," Billy said, turning slightly so they could talk. Next to him, Black Hawk snorted. "Look what a great car it is though," he continued as though the Native American hadn't interrupted at all.

Machiavelli nodded enthusiastically; he'd appreciated the Fleetwood at length and would have liked to have continued talking with the poet about the restoration. He suspected that despite Langston's car being older, it would be much warmer in these winter months than Billy's Thunderbird, though he was careful to keep this opinion to himself.

He was almost surprised to find that there were still people- lots of people, in fact- out visiting the battlefields when they got there. It wasn't just rangers either- there were a ton of tourists milling around on the paths. He supposed the warmer climate helped contribute, but still… this was almost ridiculous, he reflected.

Now here they were, Black Hawk trying to find a parking spot, while the other immortals waited on a stone wall not far from the lot. Some guy in a minivan tried to cut the Native American immortal off, perhaps thinking that a far more tolerant individual was driving this rental car, but with a deathly squeal of tires, their man behind the wheel asserted his dominance. When at last they pulled in between two overly large trucks, they joined the others, making a very odd group. Machiavelli could almost feel the eyes of others upon them and he could see why the Kansas natives might be a little disconcerted, even if he disagreed with the sentiment. They were now a group comprised of two Native Americans, an older white woman, a middle aged black man, and two young white men.

"They're staring at us," he murmured to Perenelle as they joined a tour group.

"Maybe they're looking at you because you're so well dressed," she suggested with the hint of a smile. "You're a little more formal than most would be, at a park dedicated to a historical battle…"

"Hm, I'm casually dressed," he protested.

"Casually, for you, perhaps," Billy said on his other side. He hadn't realized the others were listening.

"Well, maybe Americans should raise their standards again," he said defensively. In Europe, he would have bended in with the masses, but here among the jeans and leggings clad crowd, he stood out like a rose among the daisies. He shivered. "I'm cold," he told the Kid.

"Sorry, honey." Billy patted his pockets and pulled out- miraculously- a pair of extra gloves. "Here you go. And take my scarf."

"I can't-," Machiavelli protested, but Billy interrupted him.

"Course you can. Because you're going to."

Not wanting to raise a racket, he accepted the scarf with quiet thanks. They'd walked probably half a mile before he realized that he'd listened to nothing that the tour guide had said. _'I shoud pay more attention,'_ he thought guiltily.

Next to him, Billy squeezed his elbow just slightly. "Bored?" he whispered.

"Just thinking about other things… does it show?" he breathed back. They fell a little behind the group.

"Nah, I just know you pretty well by now. Could see that you were distracted." He motioned towards the tour group. "I've been observing that little girl. She knows more than the guide. Did you notice? She's been spouting off facts since we started.

"I haven't heard anything that anybody has said, to be honest," the tactician confessed.

Billy laughed a little and shrugged. "That's fine. We're mostly scoping out the land for tonight," he said, lowering his voice even more.

They joined another tour group when theirs came to an end, most people and the guide drifting off towards a small gift shop near the front gate. Perenelle wanted them completely familiar with the grounds as they were going to be walking around them, off the pathways and in relative darkness tonight.

When the park finally closed, they left, pretending to drive away towards the interstate. In actuality, they parked at a little diner down the road, ordered dinner, and then sat drinking coffee while they waited for darkness to fall. Being winter, it didn't take long for it to grow dark overhead; Perenelle cautioned them against moving too soon though. They still had to wait for all of the rangers to head for home. Still, they felt they had a pretty good chance of the park being deserted soon- the holidays were quickly approaching.

Billy had given him the task of eliciting present ideas from Perenelle and Fred, who both were apparently hard to shop for. He had used the afternoon to work on this, with little success. They kept getting off topic and he was at least partially to blame for this; he had allowed the French immortal to draw him into a discussion of 16th century French politics which Fred had politely listened to; in retrospect, Machiavelli understood that the Chickasaw man couldn't have had much to add to a discussion of something which had happened some three hundred years before he had been born. So he'd accomplished very little.

The Kid didn't seem to mind too much. He held Machiavelli's hand under the table, the bulk of their jackets hiding their hands from sight. Billy surprised him by wrapping a protective arm around his shoulders after the dinner plates had been cleared away.

An hour and a half later, they finally left the diner again, heading back in the direction they'd come. Above them, a skift of snow fell to the ground, dropping to the earth and fading practically unseen. They stopped by the gate, which Billy and Black Hawk pushed out of their way, using their aura before driving the cars back into the parking lot. They parked these out of sight from the road. Machiavelli and Langston were left behind to put the gates back into place. They walked back to where the others were waiting.

"You seem fairly close," Langston said to Machiavelli quietly, his eyes following Billy.

"I suppose you could say we are," Niccolo confessed lightly. Under his feet, dry leaves crackled. The ground was slowly being covered by a frigid layer of grue, cold seeping through the soles of Machiavelli's shoes and into his feet. He was beginning to wish that he had thought to wear thicker socks, or perhaps even to pack boots. It hadn't occurred to him that there would be snow down this south; even in Philadelphia, the snow they'd gotten hadn't stayed long.

Langston coughed now, rubbing at his chest. "Black Hawk was telling me a bit about your situation from the summer. What a weird world we live in."

"Billy took good care of me. I…"

The poet waited but Machiavelli didn't know what to say, so he broke in. "Yeah, he surprises you. I didn't believe him, the first time he told me who he really was, you know? Cause he didn't act like the Kid that I had grown up hearing about."

Machiavelli nodded, knowing the feeling.

They followed Perenelle out into the fields, stepping behind a copse of trees to shield them for what they were going to do next. The Frenchwoman conjured up her aura- the white gray light lighting up the sky above them- and let the spirits begin to appear around them. With the snow falling steadily now, it was almost hard to distinguish the spirits from the snow.

"What's our plan, boss?" Langston asked the French immortal, all of the men deferring to her automatically.

"Let's stick together tonight. There are a lot of them, aren't there," she said, almost despairingly. We're looking for the men who served with Billy's father or better yet, his father. Look for flags from New York units…"

Machiavelli's legs were really beginning to ache hours later. They'd talked to soldiers on both sides, with some result but not enough to give them definitive next steps. By now, they'd been walking for hours and he was beginning to think longingly of their cozy hotel room and a shower. He didn't want to be the one to say anything though, even if it did seem they'd found out everything they were going to…

"Billy," Fred called from Machiavelli's other side. "It's really starting to snow. What do you want to do?"

They were all looking at the outlaw. He shifted uneasily, looking around at the group. Machiavelli knew that Billy didn't actually enjoy being the center of attention, despite what it might initially seem. "We can go back to the hotel guys."

They all breathed a sigh of relief. Billy, who had been looking miserable and tired, cracked a smile at this. "I'll catch up with you, though, okay? I'd just like to walk around a bit more."

"Billy, we've been everywhere," Black Hawk said sharply.

"I know. I just want to look around a bit more, you know? You guys don't have to wait for me. I can take the rental back."

"We can't just leave you out here alone."

Billy looked back at Black Hawk, looking a little dazed. "Nah, really, I'll be fine."

Black Hawk looked like he was going to argue, but Machiavelli stepped forward. "No offense meant," he said carefully to the Native American, "but I prefer to drive with Billy. If it's okay with him, I think I'll wait until he's ready to come back."

"Alright, well maybe you can talk some sense into him…" Black Hawk smacked him on the shoulder in what Niccolo thought was meant to be a friendly gesture. "Don't let him stay out here too long," Black Hawk said in a low voice.

Machiavelli nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep them warm. "We'll be back soon, I hope."

Billy was wandering away from them and Machiavelli waved slightly before hastening to catch up with the outlaw. He fell in step with the younger immortal, neither of them speaking, but traveling softly over the ground with only the slight crunch of snow beneath their feet to mark their progress. As the darkness closed in around them and obscured the other immortals from their sight, Machiavelli took his arm. He looked over at Billy and closed his mouth again. Billy, seeming to sense the question on his lips, looked back at him. "I'm okay, Mac. Little bit sad. That's all."

"I don't want you to be sad."

The Kid laughed a little, the sound hollow in the night. "Sometimes I will be sad, you know."

"I know. But I love you so, I just want you to always be happy."

"You make me happy, Mac. Really you do."

They went another fifty feet in silence. "William?" Machiavelli asked at last, a bit tentatively as he was starting to get cold. "Where are we going exactly?"

"Oh, I was just wandering a bit… Are you cold?"

"No…"

"You are," Billy said accusingly. "Oh, Mac, why didn't you say anything?" Too cold to truly argue, Machiavelli shrugged, yanking at the collar of his coat to try to get it as far up as he could. "Let's go back to the car now, querido. I'll warm you up."

"Going to turn on the heat?"

Billy actually snickered at this. "Yeah, sure. Come on, handsome." He took a firmer hold of the Italian's arm. "Just one more thing to do before we go…" He led the man over to the side of the path where dry dead leaves had gathered. "This will be fun. Leaves are meant to be kicked up in the air."

Machiavelli hesitated, stepping carefully into the leaves. "Are you sure? We're awfully old for this kind of behavior."

"No, we aren't. We're the perfect age for this kind of behavior." Billy kicked the leaves higher. "I only learned how much fun this was when I was about a hundred years old."

Machiavelli did some quick calculations in his head. "A hundred years... would that be when you met that girl they thought you'd marry?" he asked, but quietly and the Kid apparently didn't hear him. He felt a twist of jealousy in the pit of his stomach and he strove to quash that feeling before it became something bigger. To please Billy, he kicked the leaves up himself. To his surprise, it filled him with a fluttery feeling.

"Now you're getting into it," Billy called happily. The American grabbed the taller man's arm and held him close. "Isn't it fun?"

Machiavelli smiled softly. In that moment, he was able to put away his jealousy entirely, secure in his knowledge that Billy's past relationships were in the past for the younger man. He dragged his legs through the leaves, looking behind him to see the trail they'd made. "It is fun," he agreed. "Si effettua la semplice bella."

Billy blushed and looked up at the dark sky. "Nah, I just know how to have a good time, is all." He pulled his coat close around him and changed the subject. Machiavelli noticed once again that the American didn't seem to be able to take too much affection full on. Billy shivered too. "Enough fooling around, Mac," he said glancing back at the tall immortal. "Even I'm cold now."

"Good. I'm cold. Why should I suffer alone?"

"I told you to put a heavier coat on," Billy told the Italian.

Machiavelli rubbed his hands together as they came back from their walk. He shivered. "It wasn't this cold when we left. I think it's getting colder," he told the American.

Billy walked so close to him that they touched shoulders every few steps. "You've never spent time in a colder climate, huh? Want my coat?"

Machiavelli shook his head. "You'll get cold," he murmured. "Besides, we're almost home." He pointed to their rental car, the last in the parking lot, about 100 yards ahead of them

"Well, we can share some warmth at least." Billy opened his coat up and wrapped one side around the slender Italian. The European slipped his arm under the coat and behind the American's back so that they both covered as much as they possibly could. Billy chuckled beside him.

"What's funny?"

Billy squirmed a little as they walked. "You're tickling me," he gasped. Machiavelli wanted to explore this new knowledge, but was too cold to seriously pursue it. He was more intent on making his way back to their car instead. He filed it away for later.

~MB~

Billy pulled over on a dirt side road. Machiavelli looked at him, probably wondering why they'd stopped in the middle of nowhere. "Is the car out of gas?" the Italian immortal asked and despite how lousy he was feeling, Billy couldn't help but laugh a little at the desperate tone in Mac's voice.

"No, we've got plenty of gas. I just wanted a moment with you, before we get back to the city. To the others," he clarified. Feeling a little flustered, he rubbed roughly at the back of his neck.

"Ah, well, I'd like that too." Niccolo's soft Italian accent still had the power to send goosebumps up Billy's arms.

"I'm sorry, Mac," he found himself saying.

Machiavelli looked over at him, surprised. "For what?"

"For not telling the others about us. I know you say it doesn't bother you, but I feel bad. It's not like I'm ashamed of you," he said quickly. He hesitated. "It's me."

"I'm not worried about it," the tactician assured him. "I'm a little nervous myself, about the others knowing…"

"Hmm…" Billy didn't know what to say next. He looked up through the moon roof of their rental car. "Look at all the stars, Mac."

"They're beautiful."

"Like you," Billy said, faltering just slightly, but sure enough of what he was saying to keep going. "I think you're just gorgeous."

"Me?" Machiavelli laughed. He looked back down at Billy, making his heart skip a beat. Machiavelli's smile shone even in the darkness. "Nobody has ever called me gorgeous… Me?" he asked again.

"Oh god, yeah," Billy said earnestly. "I've never met a more handsome man."

"You've got to be teasing me.

"I would never," Billy said solemnly. He could see Niccolo smiling at him in the darkness and for a moment, it felt like his heart was beating so loud that surely the other man could hear it. His stomach flipped over. It felt like riding a rollercoaster. "Want to kiss?"

Niccolo nodded. Leaning over, he paused. Feeling rather like a fish out of water, Billy cradled his face slightly and gave him a tender kiss. Resting his nose against Machiavelli's, he kissed him over and over again. He opened his mouth and felt the Italian immortal's tongue exploring against his.

"Want to do more?" Billy asked huskily. "Yeah? Yeah! How- how about in the backseat?"

"Si, absolutely."

Billy turned off the car. All the lights lit up again, casting them into a sudden brightness. Getting out, they both moved to the back seat. "Are the lights ever going to turn off, you think?" Machiavelli asked nervously. "We're pretty obvious out here."

"Like a pair of sitting ducks," Billy agreed. "I think they will turn off… now," Billy said as they were plunged into complete darkness. "God, now I can't see you at all," he said, laughing. "Where are you?"

"Here's my hand," Machiavelli said, reaching out for Billy. Finding him, he brought Billy's hand up to his face. The outlaw explored, finding his lips again. He leaned in and captured them between his. "Can I touch you?" he whispered.

"Don't have to ask," Machiavelli told him, sounding breathy himself.

Billy could feel his heart beating faster. Kissing Machiavelli on the cheek, he found the tactician's knee. He trailed his fingers up his thigh, gasping slightly when he felt the sinewy muscle beneath his pant leg. He squeezed just slightly and hear Machiavelli exhale sharply. "Feel good?"

"Oh, god yes."

"I wish I could touch you all the time," Billy said, moving his hand over and over the Italian immortal's erection, reveling in the obvious pleasure he was causing.

"Think the public indecency laws would have something to say about that," Niccolo gasped.

"Mm, don't care," he decided. He moved his hand up, trying to undo the clasp of Mac's pants, but struggling with it. "Can't get it. Damn" Abandoning his effort to look suave, he used both hands to open them up. Machiavelli obliged him by shifting forward in the seat.

As soon as the zipper was undone, Billy reached inside and cupped the growing bulge. The soft cotton of Machiavelli's boxers left very little to the imagination. "You're so big," he whispered, his breath coming out in little puffs of air.

Machiavelli snorted a little. "You're too kind." Groping around, Billy could feel him touching his arm and shoulder, then he found the American immortal again and kissed his nose. "Sorry. I was trying for your cheek."

Billy giggled, which embarrassed himself slightly. "S'okay. Kiss me more." He worked his fingers. He didn't like being the one on top though. Leaning over him to kiss, while maintaining contact below, was proving to be a bit of a balancing act which was beginning to feel tiring. He pulled on Machiavelli's shoulder a little, hoping to coax the other man into leaning over him for a little, but the Italian immortal misinterpreted and just shifted closer.

Breaking their kiss, he gasped, "Want me to do more?" He gave a little extra squeeze to illustrate his meaning.

"You don't have to do that."

"But I want to." And strangely enough, he found that he did want to do it too, which was strange because he'd never given another man oral before in his life and felt the beginning fluttering of butterflies in his stomach. "Shift over a little and- and lose the pants."

Machiavelli moved over and Billy helped to strip him of both pants and boxers. He could only see a dim outline of the European immortal in the darkness, but it was enough to excite him. Essentially bending over on the seat, Billy kissed the older man's thighs, slowly moving up. The air was tinged with pheromones. He could almost taste the other man's horniness and nervousness, all in one.

He felt a moment's blind panic- he didn't know what to do. Kissing just the tip of it initially, he hesitantly took more of it in his mouth.

It was a sensation he'd never felt before and part of him felt an overarching gratitude to all of his previous girlfriends because this was weird. He explored with his tongue- could feel the ridge where the tip joined with the shaft. Machiavelli was pretty big, despite what he might think, he was thick, and suddenly thinking that one day he might be expected to take the Italian immortal inside of him made him so nervous, he let the tip pop out of his mouth with a wet noise.

"Sorry," he apologized, looking up in the dark. "I'm no good at this."

"Machiavelli ran his fingers though Billy's hair and he felt calmer. "You're doing fine. It's something new- isn't it?'

Billy laid his head against the tactician's chest and was floored to hear the other man's heart beating fast. "Completely new. I've never… never tried before. Bending again, he took more of Machiavelli in his mouth. Occasionally, his teeth would scrape over it and he apologized frantically, thinking to himself that this must be the worse oral Machiavelli had ever received.

"You're doing good," Machiavelli said above him, almost as though he could hear the thoughts in his head. "You're so good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Billy thought that Machiavelli must not be completely lying either because he could feel him shifting in rhythm to his actions, tensing and flexing. "Billy?"

"Mac?"

"Ah, I'm… I'm getting close. What's our plan?"

"Our plan?"

"Well, do you have a… a tissue or are you going to-?"

"Oh," Billy understood finally. "I'd like to swallow," he said shyly. "That okay?"

"Yeah. Are you sure?"

"Mm hm." Dipping back down, Billy began to stroke his erection, feeling a little self-conscious, but licking his palm nonetheless to lend a little moisture. Wrapping his lips around the shaft again, he did his best to move his hand and mouth together concurrently. His jaw was beginning to ache slightly, but he could feel the Italian immortal straining, hear his breathing becoming shallower, and he knew the older immortal was close.

"Oh, Billy. Billy, that's good. Oh, fuck." Machiavelli tangled his fingers in the outlaw's hair. He moaned, his hips jerking involuntarily. Billy had to remind himself not just to breath but to keep moving. He willed himself not to stop.

"Fuck, William. I'm coming." Billy couldn't tell at first, except that his partner had gone rather rigid. Then there was a sudden rush of bitterness and it was only pure instinct that kept him swallowing. It felt like the flow kept coming for a while, though it was probably really only a matter of seconds.

"Come up here, Billy," Machiavelli said finally, pulling the younger immortal back up so they were on the same level. Billy was flattered more than he could say when the older immortal kissed his forehead. "You were so good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You feel better, honey?"

Billy nodded, glad it was dark cause he was blushing now, he could feel it. "I do. Something about sex…"

"It's the hormones, if you pardon my scientific assessment," Machiavelli said. The Kid felt him shiver. "It's getting cold though now," he continued, pulling his pants back up. "All of our," he made a motion between the two of them, "interacting kept us warm so far. That's going away."

"Ah, well, here Mac." With a little popping noise, Billy conjured up a small ball of his aura. Waves of warmth came rolling off it. "Let's get you home." Getting out of the backseat, he ran around the car in time to pull open the front door for Machiavelli, earning another kiss on the cheek and the impression that he had flustered the tall man. Shutting the door again, he got in on his side of the car, turning it on, and cranking up the heat. "I love you, Mac. Love, love, love you."


	80. Chapter 80

Billy found that he couldn't muster the energy to get out of bed the next morning. Thoughts of the previous day kept rattling around in his head so that even though he woke before any of the other immortals- and he knew this by the general level of silence around him- he stayed lying on the uncomfortable mattress of the fold out couch long after movement was heard from other areas of the hotel room.

Next to him, Black Hawk was snoring loudly, great sawing noises coming from the back of his throat. Billy could feel his hot breath hitting his left ear; it didn't bother him, but it distracted his already woebegone mind.

Shifting his legs around he tried to decide what he wanted to think about first- what they had found on the battlefields or what he had done with Machiavelli in the backseat of the rental car. A little snort on his left decided it for him. If he was going to think about his boyfriend, he'd better do it now before the others woke up. He closed his eyes and tried to remember the sensations from the previous night, what it had been like to kiss Machiavelli in the dark, what it had been like to touch him in places that no one else ever would.

He groaned just slightly, slipping his hand under the elastic band of his underwear. _'Think of something else, anything else. This was a bad idea. Think of… tax forms. How many deductions I took out on my w2 last year…'_ It wasn't much use. He glanced over at Black Hawk again. Mercifully, the bulky immortal had turned on his side, facing away from him now, and he turned away too so that they lay back to back. He decided to be quick about it. _'But when we get home, I'm going to have a fucking time with Mac,'_ he thought, feeling a little bitter about being over a hundred and fifty years old and still having to quietly wank in the early morning hours so as to be unobserved.

Licking his palm, he began to rub, concentrating on the area where tip met shaft. He could still remember the way Machiavelli had tensed, the soft sounds that had fallen from his mouth, and the way the muscles had moved under his touch. He suppressed a groan, tightening his grip, and moving his hand faster up and down, occasionally licking his palm as the spit became tacky.

Finished- remarkably quick too, he thought- he rolled over onto his back again so that he was now facing the ceiling. He looked up at the patterns in the white plastering; it reminded him of snow. Snow... His thoughts drifted back to their terrible excursion last night, terrible because they had exerted themselves for hours and had seemed to get nowhere.

This time he did groan out loud. He glanced back again at Black Hawk, afraid that he'd woken the other man up, but so far, there were no movements. He rolled around on his back, stretching out a kink in his back. His foot tingled unpleasantly and he knew his aura was still working to fix the damage he'd done earlier in the week. He wondered how Langston's back was feeling…

They'd parked the cars out of sight, hiding them behind boulders that the ice age had long ago deposited on an otherwise relatively flat landscape. It had been the six of them- Machiavelli, Black Hawk, Fred, Langston, Perenelle, and him, Billy. He could remember watching his boyfriend- that word still sounded funny for Mac, he was going to have to come up with a different word- and Langston walking back towards them, and he'd wondered what they were talking about. He had looked at Machiavelli, trying to elicit answers, but Machiavelli had brushed him off with a slight smile and a shake of the head.

He remembered having been surprised when the tactician had reached out for him, but Mac just wiped some snow off his shoulders.

The snow. It had been a surprise. They'd watched the weather carefully, and there had been little to no chance of snow and yet it had snowed, not much sure, but enough to make the ground very slippery and the air cold and hard to breathe.

Closing his eyes, he let the rest of the night play out like a film reel in the back of his mind, projecting the events onto the backs of his eyelids. His breath came in slow and deep, but his brow furrowed.

~MB~

They moved away from the road, afraid that someone might come to patrol, even just to pass by the park, who would see them and report them. It would be awkward explaining what they were doing and, also, Billy wondered, would they see the spirits in the field after Perenelle revealed them? He could see them and he didn't have her… gift. _'And how much of a gift is it?'_ he added silently.

They'd gone off the path relatively quickly with just one flashlight lighting their way. The ground dipped down just slightly past a certain point and they felt that once they were there they would be out of sight of the road.

Still, it had felt stupidly out in the open. They clustered around Perenelle, instinctively shielding her from sight as though she was the one that was about to give off the white light Billy had come to expect, as if they could blot her out from sight when in moments- Billy's skin crawled- there were going to be hundreds if not thousands of spirits walking among them, pearly white and opalesque.

Perenelle's eyes had glowed white, her pupils disappearing as her aura flared up. Grimacing at what was about to happen and remembering the spirits they'd seen in the basement of the house on North Main St, Billy had moved closer to Fred, bumping shoulders with him. Across from him, Machiavelli stood with his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

Not wanting to think about those tendrils of light forming in his peripheral view, Billy focused on Machiavelli. He was suddenly struck by how handsome the other man was, a light wind blowing Niccolo's brown hair about, and he felt a warm flash of love fill him up. At that moment, he didn't care anymore about the snow or the spirits or even about finding out about his father. So long as he had the Italian immortal, he felt he could be happy.

"There are a lot of them," Langston said from his other side and he heard a note of unease in the poet's voice that he felt himself. He had a sudden vision in his head of Langston as he had been when they first met, just a kid who was a bit lost, and an overwhelming urge to shield the other man came over him, as strong as it had felt when they had first met.

"They're not so bad," he lied, stepping away from Fred. Throwing an arm around over Langston's shoulder, he pulled the youngest immortal- thankfully not him at this moment- and pulled him over to where Machiavelli had been waiting for him. "They can't hurt you." He couldn't help it; he kissed Langston on the temple, feeling relieved that he wasn't the only who was nervous. He thought he saw something flash across Machiavelli's face, but he couldn't interpret it and then it was gone; the mask that the tactician sometimes put up was back in place.

Linking arms with both men, he pulled them in one direction. "Guess we're going to go this way," Langston called back to the others. "What do we do?" he added in an undertone to the other two men. "Just walk up to them and start talking?"

"Uhm, basically," Billy agreed. "They can't do anything to us. Right, Mac?"

"Yes," Machiavelli concurred, speaking for the first time in a while. "You don't have to worry." He seemed to be speaking to both immortals and Billy had the feeling that the older immortal knew how both were feeling at the moment. "Your father would have been most likely known by a New York or Indiana regiment," he reminded Billy. "We should look for flags from those units."

"We don't really know that anyone my father knew will be here," Billy said, feeling doubtful.

"Um, is it just me," Langston interrupted quietly, "or are most of the soldiers here black?"

"This was the site of the Baxter Springs battlefield," Machiavelli said back, even quieter. "I was reading about it. Most of the men who died here were from African American units."

"Ah, well, we have to start somewhere. We might as well ask one of them." He approached a group of three men, who watched him approach. "Hello," Billy said nervously, puffs of air rising in front of him. "I'm looking for someone who knows my father. I was told that he might have passed through this area."

"Your father was a soldier?" one of the men asked, his eyebrow raised. His tone suggested that he thought Billy must be joking and the Kid felt a flash of impatience.

"Yes," he said, trying to inject some patience into his speech that he didn't feel. "His name was Michael McCarty. I've got a picture of him." He fumbled in his breast pocket and pulled out the picture he'd been looking at over and over again recently. Spreading it out, he held it in front of the three men. "See a man like him?" he'd asked.

"Crap, crackers all look the same."

Behind him, he could hear Langston snicker a little. He wanted to feel indignant but despite himself, he felt a smile cross his face. "Yeah, I know." He offered them a lopsided grin.

They seemed to warm up to him. Stepping forward, the quiet soldier- the one who hadn't spoken yet- leaned forward. "That's an Indiana flag on his shoulder, that is." His accent was soft, like leather that had been worn down. All the syllables of Indiana were stressed individually. "We know a guy that came down from Indiana. Don't we?" He looked at the others. "We don't know him," he said, tapping the corner of the photograph. "But I can show you where to find the guy who might. If you want?"

"I'd appreciate that."

The next spirit they talked to didn't know his father either however, nor did the one after that. They were passed through the lines, some spirits more helpful than others, but most of them curious about the living beings in their midst who could see them and talk to them. Billy still felt like shuddering, knowing these spirits were everywhere, just waiting to be seen, but he was glad to find that most of them weren't in any way threatening, regardless of the side they'd been on in the war.

All the while, the snow was piling up. Billy felt miserable- his boots weren't meant to keep out snow and they didn't offer the traction needed to scale up half frozen inclines. He was cold all over. When Langston, who got more determined as the night went on, went off to interrogate a couple of soldiers from a Pennsylvania unit, the Kid hung back to talk to the tactician.

"You're quiet tonight, Mac."

Machiavelli gave a start. "Just a bit sleepy, I suppose."

"I thought maybe I said something wrong before," Billy commented, glancing over at the Italian immortal. "You looked… I don't know. But you know that you're my favorite person, don't you?"

"Am I now?" Machiavelli said with the flash of a smile. The Kid nodded, giving him a disbelieving look. "Ah, well good. You're mine."

"Of course I love you most of all. You're my boyfriend. And I took care of you all summer."

"Do you miss that?"

Billy hesitated. "Sometimes. But- uh- well I like you like this too so it's difficult to say. I just like having a kid around, you know? I wish that we could have a baby." He turned red in an instant, especially since Machiavelli froze mid-step. "I didn't mean you and me specifically," he added quickly. "Just all of us immortals. I gave away my mortality when I was twenty-two. Twenty-two year olds don't think about how much of a void it might be, to not have a child someday," he said earnestly.

"On the other hand," Machiavelli said quietly, "you don't have to know how painful it is to fall in love with your babies, only to have them grow old and pass you by either." He tried to be gentle. It seemed important though, somehow, to cut this fantasy off quickly before Billy put too much of his hopes into it. It seemed unlikely that they could ever have children. He tried to move the conversation forward. "Maybe you should do some mentoring with children. You were really a good father figure."

"You think so?" Billy said doubtfully, feeling like he wasn't a good mentor to anyone.

"I do. I wouldn't say so if I didn't mean it.

The Kid had too many thoughts in his head to sort out what it all meant. "I liked taking care of you. It's nice to have someone who needs you."

"I need you, Billy."

He beamed. "Do you really? I need to be needed, you know. I feel like I have all this love in me that I've been bottling up. I'm going to adore you for the rest of our lives."

Machiavelli smiled. "That's a long time."

"I mean it," the outlaw argued. "You're my favorite," he repeated stubbornly. "You don't have to be jealous of anyone else either," he added, getting a sudden insight to what his Italian might have been thinking before.

Machiavelli gave him a sharp look. "How could you possibly know that was what I was thinking?"

"I just know you really well," Billy said happily. "God, I want to get out of Kansas, Mac."

"I think everyone feels that way."

"It was when we lived in Wichita that my mother got sick," Billy said to Machiavelli, squeezing his hand. "We don't know if she contracted it in the city or if she was just a longtime carrier of the disease, but there was a lot of reasons to leave. Wichita was dangerous when I was growing up there- seems funny to say now but it was- and her doctor recommended that we move to a warmer client. My stepfather didn't want to leave so soon, so we moved ahead of him."

"He didn't want to move, even to improve the health of his wife?" the Italian asked incredulously.

The Kid shrugged. "He had just started a farm and he saw the move as very inconvenient." Lowering his voice conspiratorially, he added, "I was hoping that he wouldn't find us again. I told my mother that one time. She got pretty pissed at me. It was one of the only times she's ever smacked me."

"She probably was just under a lot of strain," Niccolo said swiftly. "Being a parent isn't the easiest thing to do under the best of circumstances…"

"Sure," Billy agreed. "I never-" But he was cut off at that moment by a sudden cry of pain and they both looked around in some alarm. "That sounded like Langston," Billy said, wheeling around. "Over here, come on." Machiavelli followed the outlaw, who took off at a fast clip in the direction of the poet's voice. They could hear him swearing.

"What happened?" Machiavelli called, as they skidded to the side of the poet, who was lying on the ground at the bottom of an incline. "Did you slip?"

"Yeah, I was looking at that guy," Langston jabbed his hand at a spirit who was watching them, "and the next thing I knew, I was lying here."

"It's quite the incline," Machiavelli said.

"I've got you honey," Billy said, leaning down. He wrapped his arms around Langston's hips and pulled him to his feet, setting him upright again. "You feel alright?"

"It twinges a bit. I'm fine though."

"Are you sure? Why don't we give up for the night?" He felt very defeated.

"Um, sure. But give me a minute. I want to talk to that guy." Moving stiffly, Langston made his way over to the soldier that had caught his eye. They spoke for several minutes; Billy and Machiavelli waited indecisively on the trail, gradually being joined by Fred, Black Hawk, and Perenelle who looked frozen.

Finally, the poet came back to them. He shook his head when asked what he had talked about with the spirit and said he'd talk about it after they warmed up.

Billy felt his spirits sinking as the night faded into obscurity. They'd found nothing out. He didn't want to leave just yet, despite what he had told the others; he kept thinking that there must be something they'd missed, someone who would know his father. But there was no one they hadn't tried. It was truly a dead end.

He felt someone take his hand. Machiavelli gave his hand a quick kiss, his eyes ahead of them on the others. "Thanks," he said softly. "I just, I want…"

Machiavelli nodded.


	81. Chapter 81

AN: Sorry for the long delay in between updating. I've hit a rough patch in my life, the past couple of months and just wasn't myself enough to continue updating. I hope everyone has a great Christmas if you celebrate it and a nice Monday otherwise, haha. I'll see how many chapters I can bang out today, since I'm working anyways...

* * *

Billy didn't realize that he had fallen asleep again until he was awoken by a loud banging noise and a muffled "shh!" coming from the kitchen.

"What's up?" he asked, sitting up in the bed. He felt like he had cotton in his ears; the world seemed farther away than usual. He shook his head like a dog and some of the constricted feeling left him.

"Sorry, Billy," Black Hawk called from the kitchen. He held up a pan, looking unusually sheepish. "Dropped this."

"What are you making?" the Kid asked, rolling over on his side. He peeped curiously at the group of immortals in the kitchen- everyone was gathered there except for him and Machiavelli. "Where's Mac? What time is it?" he asked, more to himself than to the others. He fumbled for his watch on the coffee table beside him. "Eleven."

"Niccolo's still asleep," Perenelle told him. She came over and sat on the edge of the foldout bed. Billy was supremely relieved that he had dealt with his morning wood before any of them had woken up, now more than ever since he found himself the center of attention. "We were making you cookies." She rubbed his back. "I'm sorry we didn't find anything out yesterday."

"It's not your fault," Billy said sleepily. "You know, I woke up like four hours ago. I just must have fell back asleep again."

"When'd you guys get in?" Fred asked curiously. "You came back after the rest of us and we stayed up for at least an hour…"

"I didn't look at the clock," the outlaw said, blushing a little. "I lost track of time and Mac kept me company… Wait, did you say you were making me cookies? What kind?" he asked, perking up.

"Chocolate chip. Black Hawk says they're your favorite. I thought he might have been tricking me into making his favorite," she said frankly, ignoring the small indignant splutter from behind her, "but Fred and Langston confirmed so here we are."

"They are my favorite." The Kid's nose twitched. "They smell good." Curling onto his side, Billy made himself into a small ball. He moved around a little. "I can wake up Mac," he said sleepily.

"If you want to," Perenelle said, getting up again.

"I think he'd be annoyed if we let him spend the whole day in bed," Billy murmured. Stretching one leg over the edge of the bed, he leaned further and further over the edge of the bed until he was forced to either fall or get up. "Yes, sir. I'll be right back. Um," he turned around, "I'm going to get changed while I'm in there. Then I'll wake him up." He grabbed his jeans and a shirt, and shuffled off into the larger of the two bedrooms.

Once he was inside however, he tossed the clothes on Fred's side of the bed. "Mac," he whispered, bending over the Italian immortal. "Mac!"

"Oh, what?"

"You should wake up," Billy said quietly, but insistently. "It's getting on in the morning."

Machiavelli slowly blinked up at him. Rolling over partways, he looked to see if Fred was still there. "Where-?"

"Out in the kitchen with the others." The outlaw grinned down at his companion. "Give me a kiss?" he asked, so quietly that he barely made a noise.

"Course," Niccolo agreed, propping himself up on his elbow. They met halfway, the Kid wrapping his arms around the older immortal's shoulders to stabilize him so that he wouldn't tip over.

"Sorry about my breath. Apparently, we both out slept all the others," Billy said in between kisses.

"We got in later than the rest of them. Besides, I was mostly asleep by the time we made it bac." Machiavelli swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stretched before laying his head upon Billy's shoulder. The Kid huffed a little under the extra weight.

"Of course you were tired," the Kid laughed, beaming at him. "I always get tired after I, you know-" Billy make a jerking motion with his wrist. "And we had a lot of fun last night, didn't we?"

"Ah, yes, last night." A flush settled over Machiavelli's cheeks. The outlaw thought it only made the Italian immortal more handsome; he felt a delighted twist in his stomach that he strongly suspected had to do with Niccolo's increased vulnerability.

He threw his arms around Machiavelli's shoulders. "I had fun last night," he said, stammering a little despite himself. "I've never done that before… Did it feel good?"

"Oh, god, yes." Despite his apparent embarrassment, the tactician looked amused at the question. "Something I'd like to do more of… but not right now," he amended with a worried look at the door leading to the rest of the apartment, as though afraid that the outlaw would suggest a second go at it.

Billy however didn't seem to have seriously considered it. He was already standing up again. Pivoting gracefully, he did kiss the Italian's forehead before he moved away from the bed. "We'd better get dressed." He began peeling off layers.

"Uh, how are you going to explain getting dressed in here?" Machiavelli asked, watching him.

Billy grinned, grabbing himself suggestively. He raised his eyebrows with obvious mirth. "Well, we are two men so there's less suspicious already. And I told them I'd get dressed before I woke you up. Look what you do to me," he added, abruptly changing the subject.

Machiavelli kissed him right below the naval. "No time to take care of that now, I guess."

"No, unfortunately not," Billy sighed. He adjusted himself carefully. "I'm going to put on a long sweater don't worry. It'll subside and in the meantime, I'll be covered up."

"Sure, but I wish we could…"

Billy laughed, pulling the door open. "I'll let you get dressed Mac. There are cookies waiting for us." Yawning, he ambled into the kitchen. "Is there coffee too?" he asked, giving them all doe eyes while trying to curry favor.

"We drank it all. You'll have to make more."

"Why are there cookies?" Machiavelli asked, emerging fully dressed from the bedroom.

"Why aren't there cookies?" Billy asked rhetorically, already in the process of cramming on into his mouth. He fumbled around for the coffee pot.

"This is him before coffee," Niccolo mumbled, sitting beside Langston at the island. "Why are there cookies?" he asked.

"How'd you get dressed so fast?" Billy asked him instead. "I literally just woke you up a two minutes ago."

"My wardrobe has been significantly depleted by a lack of laundry. There wasn't much to choose from." He began to make coffee.

"Are you making me coffee too?" the Kid asked, distracted.

"Of course, William."

"Aw, you're my hero, Mac." Billy sat beside Langston at the island. Slipping his hand into the poet's, he gave it a little shake. "You know, it's even weirder seeing you old now than it was to see Fred. And he was my contemporary. But you were just a little boy when I met you."

Langston gave him a half smile. "You saw me growing up over the years."

"Doesn't mean it made sense to me," the outlaw said, shaking his head slightly. "And then there's Mac. All my babies keep growing up on me," he joked, pulling the Italian over to where he was sitting. "I just want a kid."

"Want me to replace the younger me with some random child?" Machiavelli asked, leaning a little against the outlaw.

"No, no… but think about how much fun it would be to have a little kid around for the holidays, Mac."

"Think about how heartbreaking it would be to watch that little kid grow old and die," Machiavelli mumbled back. Billy winced, feeling a unpleasant flutter in his chest. "Ah, I'm sorry, Billy. You shouldn't let me talk before I drink coffee."

"S'okay, Mac. I was just fooling around anyways."

"Mm hm," Machiavelli said, but he was looking shrewdly at Billy and the outlaw blinked, looking away. He couldn't explain the sudden leaden feeling in his stomach…

Perhaps Langston sensed some of the tension that had sudden slipped into Billy. He touched the outlaw's arm, jerking him back to attention. "What's our next step, Billy?"

The Kid lowered his coffee cup, thinking it over. "I don't think we're going to find out anything from this trip. There's no traces of either of my parents… I'm sorry guys."

"You don't have to be sorry," Black Hawk said sharply, turning a chair around and sitting in it backwards. "We couldn't have known they wouldn't be here without putting in some effort."

"I had a feeling though… My mother got sick here. Why would she want to stay here?" Feeling beyond frustrated, Billy ran his hand through his hair, absentmindedly tousling it. "More and more I'm thinking if she's anywhere, she's in New Mexico."

"So, are we going there next?" Perenelle asked from her place by the fridge. She leaned against the counter imperiously and Billy couldn't tell what she was thinking or what she wanted to do next.

"No," he decided, making the decision in the moment he said the world. "No, no, thanks guys. I want to go back to our apartment. I miss Philadelphia. I hate sleeping on the couch, no offense, Black Hawk. I want to spend a nice little Christmas while the season's still upon us. Then… after Christmas… we can start again?"

"That's fine."

Billy looked over at Langston. For the briefest of moments, he saw the little boy that he had known and loved so, then Langston was how he was. He felt a curious sense of sadness. It was like he had been saying to the poet before; he wasn't prepared to see his friends grow old even if they retained their immortality. "Are you going to come back with us?" He touched Langston's cheek.

The African American immortal looked at him, leaning against his hand. "No, I don't think so, Billy. I'll come to visit you again, soon too, but I have some things I should like to do before the holiday is upon us."

~MB~

They'd scheduled the earliest flight back to Pennsylvania they could find. To open up their travel plans much more significantly, they'd agreed to sit in different parts of the plan rather than try to find a flight with enough seats available in first class. Billy felt a bit bad about making Machiavelli sit crammed in the cheap seats, but the Italian immortal made no objections, so the Kid had to put his own reservations aside.

The outlaw was glad to be leaving Kansas behind them- it had been a terrible trip overall- but he found that he didn't want to leave Langston now, not so soon after meeting up with him again after so much time had passed.

"Are you sure you won't come with us?" Billy asked, fixing the other man's collar. He patted him on the shoulder, eliciting a number of looks from passerby, both black and white people. He ignored them.

Langston huffed a little, but he was smiling. "I'm sure. Give me a call though, when you get back to Pennsylvania. I'd like to know you got there in one piece."

"I'm not likely to die," Billy remarked, puzzled.

"I know that. But I'd still like to hear from you, you know?"

"Ah. Yeah, of course." Billy took a step away, towards the others but Langston called him back.

"Billy… Billy, what's going on between you and Niccolo? Anything?"

His stomach clenched. "What? Nothing…"

"Ah, okay. It's just that I thought you might be in love with him." Langston's dark brown eyes searched his. The outlaw stood frozen, indecisive, not knowing what to say. "You do, don't you?" the poet prodded. "I'd like that. He's a good guy, good for you."

The Kid closed the space between them again. Twisting his lip, he gave a shy smile. Langston gave a laugh and Billy begrudgingly laughed himself. "I just asked him out a couple of weeks ago. The others don't know. They don't know, do they?"

"No, I don't think so. Why haven't you told them?"

"I'm not ashamed of it or anything," Billy began, still feeling defensive. Or perhaps, he thought, ashamed of himself for not saying anything about it to the others. "I'm just… I'm figuring it out a big. I never thought I was… was, gay," he whispered, "you know?" He couldn't help but glance around him and he hated himself for doing that.

"No, that's fine. It makes sense. I'm glad to hear it though, really I am. I see the way you look at him. I've never seen you so in love."

"Is it that obvious?" Billy wondered.

The poet rocked his hand back and forth, holding it just above his waist. "If you're worried Black Hawk is going to find out, no, it's not that obvious because he's not the type to consider such a thing. It's him you're really worried about, isn't it?"

"It's not that I think he would disown me or anything… He'd probably be fine with it…" Billy couldn't seem to get a full thought out. "I haven't figured out how to tell him yet. And he's my best friend, except for Mac. I can't tell the others until he knows, right?"

"Yes, that does make sense." Langston sighed. "Alright, kid, well god knows you'll find a way to make it all work in the end. Don't you worry about it for a minute, alright? You deserve this."

He nodded. "You won't tell the others though, will you?"

"Course not. I would never out you like that."

Billy grinned. "I love you too, you know. I'm glad our paths crossed, all that time ago." Hearing the others call to him, he grabbed Langston around the shoulders in a one-armed hug and kissed him above the ear. This time, he definitely got some disapproving stares from passerby, but he didn't pay attention at all; grabbing up his carry on, he ran for the gate.


	82. Chapter 82

"Are you disappointed?" Machiavelli asked.

Billy slumped over in his seat a little. "A bit," he allowed. He shifted.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Mm… Not yet."

Machiavelli let it pass, deciding he wouldn't let too much time pass before he got to the heart of the matter with Billy. For now, though, he changed subjects. "Are you comfortable enough? I could switch with you."

The American immortal snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. You wouldn't fit in this seat any better." They'd drawn the short straw when it came to seat selection. Machiavelli felt though that even between the two of them, Billy had gotten the worst deal.

Perenelle was up in first class with Black Hawk. Curious passengers had given them edgy looks the entire time they'd been waiting for the plane to load, not really sure why this older white woman would be accompanied by the bulky Native American.

Fred was in the middle, reading a book and seeming unperturbed by the mother with a crying child to his left and the obese man on his left.

Consequently, they had been left to jam themselves into two seats at the very back of the plane, which was not how Machiavelli preferred to fly. But he was trying to make the most of it since Billy's mood seemed to be crashing down now that they'd said goodbye to Langston. They had at least saved themselves from having a third person near them by grabbing the seats on the left. Billy had offered to take the farthest seat in to save Niccolo's long legs, but he didn't look especially comfortable right now.

The outlaw waited for the stewardess to return to the front before sliding his hand onto Machiavelli's thigh. The tactician sighed a little, throwing his coat over his lap to provide a modicum of privacy. "We're in public," he reminded the American immortal in a low murmur.

Billy grinned. "I know. But we're in the back." He paused. "Want me to stop? I wasn't going to do anything really racy anyways."

"No, just don't do any more than what you're doing right now, got it? Swear to me, Billy."

"We've got the bathroom right there. It's an overnight flight…"

"No, absolutely not."

"Alright. Well, hold my hand then. I love holding your hand, you know."

Niccolo grinned. "Do you really?" he asked, intertwining his fingers with the American immortal's.

"Mm…" He had to take that for agreement because Billy was falling asleep already. They had dimmed the lights in the cabin; many people in fact had already taken out blankets or travel pillows. Seeing no one looking in their direction, he kissed Billy on the temple.

They got home around two in the morning. At the first landing, Machiavelli and Billy broke off from the others; Fred was spending the night until they could drive him back out to the reservation.

They tried to be quiet coming into the room, but it was pointless- Scatty was awake, stretched out on their bed in fact, reading a book. "You're back earlier than I thought you would," she said, making no attempt to move or get up.

"There weren't many delays for once," Machiavelli told her.

Billy flopped facedown on the bed. They both stared at him. He, in turn, ignored them. "Oh, bed. My own bed. I'll never leave you again." They heard him whisper, "I missed you."

"What?" Scatty said loudly. "Did you say you missed me? Me, the person in the room you haven't seen in a week?"

"Yes," he agreed, but his voice was muffled from where he refused to get up.

"I missed you, Scatty," Machiavelli told her.

"Thank you," she said pointedly, bumping up against the taller immortal. "It's been very quiet without all of you here."

"Well I hope you missed me cause with the way he's stretched out," he smacked Billy on the ass, "we might have to share the futon."

"No, no…" Billy rolled over, very slowly. "Sleep with me…"

"Is he talking to you or to me?" Scatty whispered to Niccolo.

"I don't know but if he doesn't keep it down, people are going to get the wrong idea."

Billy grinned sleepily, his eyes shut. "No, they'll get the right idea. The exact right idea. And let them. I love Mac, right Mac?" The outlaw propped himself up, grinning at the two European immortals.

"You two get really close, bunking together on the road?"

"Please, we were inappropriately close even before we went traveling…"

"What do you mean inappropriately close?" Billy interrupted. "We have an entirely appropriate relationship, in my humble opinion. Two amigos. And we didn't sleep together on the trip. I mean-…"

"He shared a couch with Black Hawk," Machiavelli explained, cutting across Billy's babbling.

"And did you find any clues?"

The Kid's grin faded a little. "Nah, nothing. We're going to try New Mexico next, but…we probably won't find anything there either."

"Don't say that," she chided. She got off the bed, stretching. "You're going to find her. Don't make me get all sentimental." She jabbed at his sides, making him squirm. "Give me a smile. Where's that 100 watt smile you're always charming everyone with?"

"Stop tickling me. I'm smiling, aren't I?" he gasped, rolling onto his sides. She climbed on top of him, making him twist and turn.

Machiavelli was glad to see Billy laughing again; the outlaw had been quite quiet in the past few days. It wasn't like him at all. But Scatty had a special talent for making Billy laugh. They were almost like siblings in a way, he thought.

Billy rolled over and pushed Scatty back onto the bed, throwing his weight on her so that she couldn't tickle him anymore. "Help me, Mac."

Gingerly lying down- his legs were still sore from being cramped in that little plane seat for hours- he lay on Scatty's other side. She'd given up on throwing the outlaw off, though they all knew she could have easily overtaken both of them if she had half a mind to do so. Machiavelli hesitantly wrapped his arm around her waist, kissing her on the cheek.

"I did miss you Scatty."

"I know." She shifted. "I should get up before both of you fall asleep on me and I get trapped."

"And that would be wrong because…?" Billy asked enticingly.

"Because- are you two wearing the same cologne?" she asked suddenly.

Billy rolled away. "Okay, okay, I'll get up." She got up too but squinted at the outlaw suspiciously. He ignored this. "You still haven't told me what you want for Christmas," he told her, pulling off his sweatshirt and exposing his stomach temporarily. He pulled the t-shirt down absently and slipped out of his pants. His phone and wallet, he took out of the pockets and put on his bedside table.

"I'll have to think about it…"

"Mm, well think fast," he joked. "We're in December now… Mac, you going to sleep like that?"

"Maybe," Machiavelli mumbled, dozing slightly now.

"You've come a long way, querido. I remember when you wouldn't even crease your pants the wrong way."

Machiavelli snorted. "I'm pretty sure my suit can't get any more rumpled than it already is right now. That plan trip." He fancied that Billy blushed a little, but it was dark in the corners of the room and he couldn't quite tell.

The outlaw surprised him by pulling him up to a sitting position. "Get up scruffy. You're not you if you're disheveled. You run the risk of being me in that case."

~MB~

Though at first being back in their Philadelphia brownstone seemed to have cheered Billy up, it soon became apparent to Machiavelli that the outlaw was experiencing a lingering sadness from their last couple of trips. While Billy worked very hard to keep up an appearance of general cheerfulness, there were moments when the Kid was out of the spotlight where Niccolo glimpsed a troubled expression upon the younger immortal's face.

He wanted to confront Billy about it- felt that he had to, in fact- but they did not have very many chances to talk alone. Back in their brownstone, they had the company of half a dozen other individuals to contend with, especially as Billie came frequently to "visit" Black Hawk, visits that came at all hours of the day or night.

And that was another pressing thought that kept whirling through Niccolo's mind. Given a taste of what could be by their few scattered encounters, he wanted to do more with Billy, experience more… but this hardly seemed like the time, if Billy was glum…

"Are we decorating for Christmas?" Scatty asked at dinner, the first night they were back.

Billy seemed to snap out of his reverie for a moment. "Yeah. Uh, yeah, we should…" He looked around the room like he was just seeing it. "I forgot we're coming up on the holiday. We need a tree at the very least…"

But despite what he said, Billy didn't show a lot of enthusiasm for following through on that thought. He claimed to be busy the next day when they suggested going out as a group, seeming to be fairly distracted, to the point where they decided to leave him be for the time being.

Machiavelli wasn't content to let him be though. Billy had been an electric ball of energy through Halloween, Thanksgiving, and the numerous birthdays that had piled up in the past six months. It wasn't like him to let Christmas of all holidays pass by. He felt more and more fretful with each passing day that Billy stayed shut up in his own little world.

It felt selfish of him too, to worry about sex and Christmas decorations when Billy was clearly struggling. He didn't understand why Billy wasn't confiding in him. Part of him worried about this, knowing that he was probably over thinking the situation, but unable to help himself from wondering if he was a bad boyfriend, if too much time had passed between him having relationships...

Finally, he saw his chance to pull the American immortal aside one morning two days after they'd come back. He pulled Billy into the pantry, sitting him down on a crate and pulling the cord to turn on the bare bulb light fixture.

Billy cocked his head at the Italian immortal. "Something on your mind, Mac?"

"Something on yours?" Machiavelli asked instead. "You've been quiet."

The Kid cracked a smile. "Most people wouldn't think that was a problem, in fact, given my normal propensities to talk…"

"Billy," Machiavelli broke in. "We have maybe two minutes before someone notices we're gone. Tell me what's wrong."

The outlaw's mouth twitched. He half shrugged and reached out a hand to touch the tactician's waist. "I've been a bit down lately," he admitted.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Ah, it's Christmastime, Mac, I don't want to be a spoilsport. I'm just in a funny mood, I'm not like myself lately. I'll snap out of it. This happens every once in a while." He grinned up at the Italian.

Machiavelli was unconvinced. "You always have to tell me when you're upset, even when you think it's a bad time. My job is to take care of you."

He got a smile from the Kid. "That's my job, isn't it? You're mine now."

"Ideally, we'd both look out for each other, that's kind of the point of a relationship," Niccolo remarked sardonically. "Right now, I don't need taking care of though, do I? Let's focus on you."

"I'll try to come to you more often, Mac," Billy told him earnestly. "It's just not my first instinct. I've been alone a lot of my life, see, so I'm terrible at this."

"I know, I know, and I'm probably the world's biggest hypocrite, but I can't stand to see you unhappy. Tu sei il mio Tesoro."

"Mm," Billy sighed, leaning his head into Machiavelli's abdomen. He let the outlaw rest his head there, pushing the outlaw's light brown curls out of his face. "I'm just bummed that we haven't found her yet. I pushed away how much I've missed her, you know. But it all comes back…"

"I miss my children," Machiavelli offered. "It doesn't go away. There's really no good applicable experiences to draw from either, are there? Most people don't live as long as we have."

"Do you really think we'll ever find her?" Billy asked, his voice muffled.

"I do. I really do. I would never lie to you, Billy, that I promise."

There was a knock on the pantry door. Billy just had time to lift his head slightly when Scatty pulled the door open. "Doing it in the pantry now?" she asked, an eyebrow arched.

Billy laughed a little and kissed Machiavelli's stomach, pulling him into a hug. "I'll have you know we were having a tender little conversation before you came barging in."

"You asking him why he's been such a Debbie downer lately?" Scatty asked over his head.

"In more eloquent words than that, but yes," Machiavelli said smoothly.

Billy looked from one to the other. "Does everyone know?" he complained loudly. "I've been keeping it to myself."

"I don't think the others are really aware yet, though you might want to spend less time crying in pantries if you don't want to get a reputation."

"I have not been crying in the pantry," he protested, standing up a little. Given that he was only marginally taller than Scatty, this didn't have much effect, but he did let go of Machiavelli. "I'll have you know that Mac was the one who pulled me into the pantry- trying to take advantage of me, I suspect," he added, giving the Italian a sly smile.

"It would be the one place we wouldn't get caught in," Machiavelli told him, brushing imaginary lint off the lapel of his suit. "With this house of people…"

"Nah, Scatty just proved that wrong. We're going to have to find another place." Billy shook his head as if getting rid of something. "I'm going to go Christmas shopping, I think. I haven't figured out what to get you yet." He hesitated, glancing over at Scatty nervously. All at once he seemed to gather his confidence. "I love you." He leaned in and kissed Machiavelli on the lips, surprising the Italian with the sheer ferocity of the kiss. "Bye, Scatty," he added, kissing her cheek as he went past. "I'll be back in a bit!"

"Is he okay?" Scatty asked once he had left.

Machiavelli considered the question. "Hopefully he'll be better now. But he's feeling a bit down about his mother."

"He should be happy," she said. She nudged him. "He's got you, hasn't he? And he was afraid you'd never love him…"

Machiavelli did smile at that. "It was a mutual feeling. But you can still feel sad sometimes, even at the happiest points of your life. Part of retaining your humanity, I suspect."

"I know," she grumbled. "I just want him to be happy. Doesn't he deserve it, more than either you or me?" She followed him up the stairs.

"He does. I don't know everything about him, of course. But he's one of the best people I know. There isn't anything I could find out about him that would change that."

"We should figure out something to do for him," she told him, as they got to the first floor. "Give him a great Christmas."

"Talking about Billy?"

Machiavelli sat down next to Black Hawk. "Yeah, we want to do something nice for him. When you think about it, he's really the glue that's holding us together…"

Black Hawk jiggled his leg up and down, looking thoughtful. "I could get behind doing something for the Kid. We'll figure something out."

Glancing out the window, Machiavelli wondered what that could be. He wasn't prone to overt gestures and at any rate, he and Billy were trying to keep their relationship under wraps for the time being…. And that made him think. He had a feeling he knew what would cheer Billy up, but it was a gamble…

He wondered again how Black Hawk would feel, knowing what he was up to with the outlaw. It seemed improbable to him that the Native American would feel any different about his best friend just because he was bisexual, but he knew Billy was worried and Billy knew Black Hawk better than he did… he sighed minutely, feeling like he was traveling in circles and getting nowhere.

Looking out the window again, he smiled a little. "It's beginning to snow."


	83. Chapter 83

When Machiavelli came up the steps and let himself into the brownstone, he found a flurry of activity. The others were getting their coats on as though preparing to go out; he didn't know why they would do that- even just the twenty-minute walk to the nearby market to get dog food for the Pup had chilled him to the bone. "What's happening?" he asked Scatty, stopping her in the hall.

"Nick called just after you left. He won some tickets on the radio for a holiday show. Want to go?"

"What show?" he asked, putting the bag of cans down on the floor.

Her eyes glinted mischievously. "It's called the Slutcracker."

He arched an eyebrow at her. "The Slutcracker?" he asked, hoping that this was a language barrier kind of situation, but knowing that it wasn't. "What, was the Nutcracker sold out?"

She laughed, delighted apparently at his response. "It's like the Nutcracker, but for a much more adult audience. More dildos, whips, leather, you know…"

Machiavelli glanced around at their group. "And you're going with Perry and Nick?" he asked, but very quietly.

"It should be fun," she told him. "We told Perenelle it was a different interpretation of the Nutcracker and left it at that. Are you going to come?"

He paused. Scanning the room, he realized who was missing. "Is Billy coming?"

She frowned, looking a little worried. "He passed. He said he's just not in the mood…"

"Ah, I thought he would feel better. I was hoping he would." Machiavelli looked up at the ceiling as though he could see through the floor to the rooms above. "No, I think I'll stay here with him, try to cheer him up if I can."

She nodded. "That's probably for the best. We'll let you know how the show goes." She touched his arm before moving back towards the door where the others were waiting. "He's gonna keep Billy company," he heard her telling the others.

Behind him, he could hear the door closing and the sounds of the others' voices fading as they moved into the garage. He paused, wondering briefly if he should give the American immortal space or if he should go find him. He decided it would be better to talk to him now and risk getting sent away. Taking off his scarf, he hung it on the coat rack along with his jacket. He began to search the rooms, one floor at a time, looking for the Kid.

Machiavelli stopped on the landing of the third floor. He glanced in Billy's old bedroom, then the study where the Flamels were currently staying. No sign of his American immortal. He was just beginning to wonder where his partner had gone when he heard a shifting noise above him.

'Hm,' he thought, walking to the end of the hallway and approaching the tiny door to the attic. He didn't see why Billy would be up here of all places, but he'd looked everywhere else. Sure enough, when he reached the top of the spidery circular staircase, there was the American immortal crouched near the far wall. The younger immortal looked up when the floorboards squeaked under Machiavelli's feet.

"Hey," Niccolo said, picking his way through the boxes and bundles that they'd brought up in the early fall. "What- You didn't feel like going to the show with the rest of them?" he asked, changing tacts mid-sentence.

Billy leaned back and sat on his heels. "Nah," he said finally. "I thought you would go though. Why didn't you?"

"Did you want some time alone?" Machiavelli asked instead, touching the outlaw's arm gently. "I won't take it personally if you do."

The Kid didn't answer right away and despite what he had just said, Machiavelli felt a touch anxious as he waited for a response. "I do want you around," Billy admitted at last. "I'm glad you're here." Machiavelli felt a surge of relief. "It's just that I'm not a great person to be around right now," he continued. "I'm in a pissy mood."

"I can deal with that," Machiavelli told him. "It's not like you're like this very often." He hesitated. "But can I give you a kiss?"

Billy looked up, his eyes a little bit lost. "Yeah…"

Wrapping his arms around the outlaw's thin shoulders, Machiavelli surprised him by kissing him on the forehead instead of the lips. "I love you…"

"Love you," Billy echoed. The outlaw looked around the attic, like he was only just seeing it now for the first time. He blinked and the lost expression was gone just as soon as it had come. "What are you doing up here, Mac, isn't it a bit dusty for you? You're going to ruin your good suit."

"Ah, I can always clean it. I had to find you." But the Italian looked around too. He sneezed. "What are you looking for anyways, caro?"

"Well, we were talking about getting a tree," Billy said vaguely, pushing up on his bangs. "I thought we might have some Christmas ornaments up here, but it's kind of a mess, isn't it? We just threw everything over by the door, you know?"

"Well it was hard getting everything up that staircase… Did you find the ornaments?"

Billy shook his head. "Maybe I was thinking of one of the other places," he admitted, sounding a bit defeated. "Maybe my place up in New Hampshire… that's where I spent a lot my Christmases…"

"Do you want help looking?"

Again, the outlaw shrugged hopelessly. "I'm sorry, Mac," he said again. "I'm no good tonight."

"William, come downstairs," Niccolo beseeched. He shivered. "It's cold up here." He sneezed again.

"Sure. Dusty too."

Machiavelli pulled the younger man to his feet. "Take a shower," he suggested. "You might feel better."

"Yeah… yeah, I think I will." He followed Machiavelli back through the odds and ends, seemingly lost in thought. "Hey," he said suddenly, stopping on the stairs halfway down. "Come in with me."

"What?" Niccolo asked with a little laugh. "Come in where?"

"Come shower with me," the Kid repeated. "How often do we get the house to ourselves? I want you with me."

"I don't know… Someone could come back, Billy," he said, stalling. He felt butterflies flapping nervous tornados in his stomach. "How would we explain that?"

"Nobody's likely to come back any time soon," the outlaw cajoled. He looked more like himself than he had all afternoon; playful and a bit flirtatious. But vulnerable too, that Machiavelli knew. And he found that he wanted to do as the outlaw said.

Machiavelli groaned. "You've never seen me naked before," he protested. "Are you sure you want it to be tonight?"

"Mac, I always want to see you naked," Billy said in his ear, one arm wrapped around Machiavelli's shoulder and the other beginning to undo the buttons of the Italian's dress shirt. "Now's as good a time to start as any. You do want to, don't you?" he asked, faltering slightly.

"Of course I want to. It's just… I'm me," he said, feeling like that was enough of an explanation.

Billy laughed now, kissing Machiavelli on the cheek and then on the lips, just as suddenly. "Thank god. I wouldn't do this with just anyone, you know." He was working on the clasp of Machiavelli's pants, opening them with the practiced ease of someone who meant business. He touched with light strokes, almost teasing the other immortal.

And Machiavelli felt a leaping sensation, lower than his stomach this time; by now, he was very aroused and finding it hard to take things slow anymore. He pressed his erection into Billy's hand, pushing down his pants more to allow more access.

The outlaw's eyes were half lidded now, the immortal panting slightly with unbridled desire. "Undress me, will you?"

He caught up the hem of Billy's t-shirt and pulled it over the younger immortal's head; this he tossed on the ground without looking to see where it fell. Cupping the outlaw with both hands, he pulled him closer, touching Billy all over. He could feel the American immortal responding to his touches, but it was still hard for him to believe that this moment was real. "You really find me attractive?" he asked, feeling dubious.

"Oh, Mac, I think you're gorgeous."

That was all the Italian needed to hear. Decisively, he stripped the young man from the rest of his clothes. Billy helped by tossing his watch onto the counter of the sink. There was a light flush about him, spreading down from his face to his upper chest. "Turn on the water," Machiavelli told him, wanting both to see more of the American immortal and for the other man to see less of himself. Despite his youthful appearance, he could still feel the difference in their ages and he wanted to undress the rest of the way without an audience.

Billy did as he was told, twisting almost like a dancer. Years of self-imposed abstinence had almost made Machiavelli forget that he was the more dominant lover in a relationship but he found now that he liked it when the younger man followed his directions. Slipping off his boxers, he stepped behind Billy so that his arousal was pressing into the small of the other man's back. He felt rather than heard the Kid gasp; he ran his fingers over Billy's hips, grinding them into his own.

"Turn around," he murmured and felt another thrill shiver down his body when Billy turned to face him.

They looked at each other, the water beginning to steam behind the American immortal. Though he had touched the outlaw before, had received oral from him, had pressed his body against him, there was something far more intimate about seeing each other naked, defenseless and dangerously exposed.

Billy was skinny and lithe, small curls of light brown hair, almost auburn, spreading up from his navel. He wasn't terribly muscular, but there was a suggestion of conditioning under his frame.

The outlaw seemed to have gotten over his initial embarrassment. Now he was unabashedly looking down and Machiavelli had to tilt his head up to kiss him on the lips. "Like I said, Mac, gorgeous."

"You're too kind," he asserted softly. He lifted Billy up, carrying him over the threshold of the shower and setting him down under the warm flow of water. He leaned all of his weight on the shorter immortal, pressing him against the shower wall. The American immortal moaned…

~MB~

Much later that night, they lay under the covers, listening to the creaking of the old house as it settled in for the evening. Outside the streetlights had begun to pop into being, just the ones in the park first, then all the way down their little road. They hadn't bothered turning on the lights in their room yet, meaning that their bedroom was filled with a soft orangey yellow glow and many shadows; still Machiavelli could see Billy curled up beside him and that was all he needed.

He couldn't be sure the American immortal was awake just now. Billy seemed to get sleepy after instances of profound love making and they had worked themselves into a frenzy before. He himself was split between waking the American immortal up for another session and the thought that he should get ready for the others to come back from their show.

There was a slight chuckle from beside him and he glanced to his left. "You are awake," he said, turning onto his side. He got a soft 'mm' from the outlaw who looked up at him, his eyes bright and starry. "And what are you laughing at exactly?"

"Your hair is sticking up in the back," Billy told him, reaching up to run his fingers through the Italian's dark curls. "You don't look very distinguished just about now."

"I was a little distracted," Machiavelli murmured, shifting his weight so that he was pressed up against Billy's thigh.

The Kid looked down in surprise. "Already again?"

"I have a quick recovery time when I'm with you," Niccolo said, refusing to be embarrassed. Billy looked quite pleased, actually.

"Want me to-," Billy made a jerking motion next to his mouth, "-again?"

Machiavelli made a slight strangled sighing sound, wanting Billy to but not wanting to force the American immortal into something which he wasn't prepared at this time to reciprocate. "If you want to," he conceded breathlessly, feeling the bulge in his pants growing, straining against its confines. "You don't have to, angelo."

"I want to," Billy said, rubbing the back of his head self-consciously. Before Machiavelli could say anything else, the outlaw had moved down so that he was more in line with Machiavelli's abdomen. He did a few practice tugs and looked up into Niccolo's gray eyes. "I'm not wonderful at this still," he said self-consciously.

"You're perfect."

Billy ducked his head. Glancing down, Machiavelli could see the flush running through Billy's face and staining his upper body, but the American immortal seemed determined to do this now, so he said nothing. "Where's the lube?" Billy mumbled, sitting up again and scooting over to the headboard.

Tapping his leg, Machiavelli convinced Billy to position himself so that he was perched above the tactician's torso. Because he was shorter than Machiavelli, the tactician had a perfect view of Billy. The American immortal touched himself, leaning forward to take Machiavelli in his mouth again. Machiavelli thrust his hips almost impatiently, his need rapidly doubling- he couldn't help himself. The sight of Billy so wantonly splayed in front of him was almost more than he could take in.

"You're good," Machiavelli gasped. "Deeper, oh… fuck!" He was panting, running his hands on what he could reach of Billy's body, moving his hand over the muscles in his legs and the strong calves.

"Yeah, tell me what you want," Billy told him in a much breathier voice than he usually spoke in.

"I want- I want you to touch me…"

"I can do that."

Machiavelli nearly went through the roof when Billy began to stroke and suck in tandem. He moaned, which seemed to encourage Billy to do more. He ghosted his tongue over the sensitive region of the tactician's scrotum, holding Machiavelli's thighs apart. Niccolo felt like he was going to swoon. "I'm close…"

"Does it feel good?" Billy asked.

"Are you kidding?" Machiavelli asked, sounding a bit hoarse. His toes flexed instinctively.

"I'm sorry if I scrape you with my teeth sometimes," Billy said, moving his hand up and down and taking a breath in. "You have a big dick and I have a small mouth, believe it or not. It's not the ideal combination."

"It doesn't bother me at all."

The outlaw snorted in a way that suggested he doubted the Italian immortal's sincerity, but Niccolo was too preoccupied with what his partner was doing to rebut anything the outlaw said. Feeling himself on the edge, he thrust his hips forward. He came quicker than he thought he would, in rapid strokes. Billy was swallowing- it pushed him over the edge at last.

"Mmpfh," the outlaw groaned, crawling over to Machiavelli's side and cuddling up beside him. "Mac, you were so good…"

Machiavelli swallowed, feeling completely wrung out. "You weren't bad yourself," he croaked. He shook his head, feeling faint in a good way. Turning over slightly, he wrapped his arms around the Kid, hearing Billy's heart thud, they were so close. "Do you actually enjoy doing that or are you just doing it to please me?" Machiavelli asked, genuinely curious. He was beginning to feel a little guilty about not reciprocating oral sex, but he couldn't stop himself from accepting it from Billy, not when the American immortal was so willing to offer it.

"I actually like it quite a bit," Billy said, pushing Machiavelli back onto his back. "And I'm getting better at it too, aren't I? The lube helps. Makes everything less… tacky." Kissing the tactician, he laid on his back, looking up at the shadow passing on the ceiling above them.

"You're amazing at this," the tactician said. He blushed this time- he couldn't help it.

Billy looked at him and beamed. "Really?"

"Really."

"Oh, Mac, I love you so."

Machiavelli felt so much in that instant, he couldn't say any of the things he wanted to say. He grabbed Billy's hand and kissed the back of it. He hung on, squeezing occasional pulses over to the outlaw, who lay with his head against Machiavelli's shoulder, looking drowsy and happy. "We'd better get dressed," Machiavelli finally said, reluctantly. He looked at his watch. "They've got to be coming back here soon."

"Think so?" Billy asked. He wrapped his arms around the Italian's chest, as though trying to keep him from getting up. "But we're having so much fun."

"It would be less fun to have Black Hawk come bounding in here with the two of us like this, don't you think?" Machiavelli said in his ear.

Billy groaned a little, but he rolled over and draped his legs over the side of the bed. "Right," he said, sounding discombobulated. "I'll get dressed." He looked back at Machiavelli. "Are you going to get dressed too, or are you just going to watch me?"

"It is exciting watching you," Machiavelli teased, lying back on the bed.

"We're in this together, partner," the Kid told him, coming over and leaning down. "If I have to get dressed, so do you."

Machiavelli could feel himself smiling up at the other man. "That sounds fair…"

"Oh, come here," Billy laughed, pulling him up into a sitting position. "I'm glad you missed the show, honey. Stand up for me. I'm going to dress you."

"Oh?" He arched an eyebrow.

"Yes," Billy decided. Machiavelli didn't argue. He liked the way the American immortal moved around the room naked. He liked the slight curve of his ass and the way he could see the darker skin of his testicles whenever Billy bent to scoop something off the floor. He made no effort to help the American immortal gather their clothing. A slight huff from the other man indicated that he wasn't being very subtle.

"You're getting aroused again," he pointed out.

Billy jerked it in three quick movements. "I don't know if I'll be able to get it up again tonight though. There's got to be some recovery time." He tossed Machiavelli's nightclothes on the bed and helped slide a pair of boxers up into place. "You must be feeling it. There wasn't a lot of actual cum the last time."

"You sucked me dry this time."

Billy laughed at that. Where he had been aggressively sexual before, he was very tender now. The careful way he dressed Machiavelli made the Italian's inner thighs quiver with a different but no less powerful sense of desire. "There," Billy told him at last. "You look just like yourself again. Except for the hair. You might want to fix that, querido."

"I should." He touched the side of Billy's face. "I-," he began, but they heard the unmistakable sounds of the garage door opening two floors below them and they both jumped. "I'll go fix it now."

"I'll get dressed," the Kid said mournfully.

Machiavelli stepped into the bathroom and glanced in the mirror. Except for the tousled hair, he didn't think it was obvious what they'd spent the last couple of hours doing. He hoped Billy had the presence of mind to crack the window or do something in their room. Scatty might know that they were dating, but he wasn't prepared for her to know everything they did just yet.

Stepping out of the bathroom, he was a little amazed to hear Billy's voice already downstairs. Hoping against hope that the American had actually gotten dressed before he came down, Machiavelli went down the final set of stairs.

Billy was leaning on the baluster, talking to Perenelle. He glanced up the stairs at the Italian as the tactician made his way down. "Good shower, Mac?" he asked as casually as he ever sounded, but there was a slight upward pull to his lips that belied his cheeky manner.

"It was okay."

"Just okay?"

Machiavelli stepped on his foot 'accidentally' as he passed and Billy made a little yelp.

Black Hawk came up the stairs from the garage, leaving a trail of outerwear behind him. "Well, you look happier," he said, glancing at the outlaw. "What did Machiavelli do, get you a hooker?"

Billy turned flaming red. "You can't say things like that in front of Perenelle," he hissed, looking fairly offended. "Besides, I don't pay for sex."

"Yeah, since when?"

"Since always. I don't pay for sex," the outlaw insisted, following Black Hawk into the living room.

"But you've hit a bit of a dry spell the past few decades, haven't you…" They continued to squabble as they disappeared from sight.

Perenelle sighed a little, but she was smiling nonetheless. "He does look happier than he was this afternoon," she told Machiavelli. "What did you do?"

"Oh, we just spent some time together, talking," he said, hoping he sounded offhanded. "I'm- I'm very fond of him."

"Of course you are. You saved his life."

"He saved mine," Machiavelli said, very quietly. "I think he's still a bit sad under the brash exterior though."

"He's disappointed he hasn't found his mother yet," Perenelle theorized. They stayed in the doorway of the living room, hanging back.

Machiavelli nodded. "That's what I believe. I think he needs a distraction. Give him time to think things over instead of just rushing into the next quest."

"Can you think of a good distraction for him?"

Machiavelli hesitated. "I have something in mind." They both turned, hearing footsteps coming up the steps. "There you two are," Machiavelli called, seeing Scatty and Nicholas. "I wondered if you bothered to come back."

"I was making popcorn on the stove," the Alchemist told the Italian immortal. "Scatty stayed with me to keep me company." He led the way into the living room.

Machiavelli took a seat on the couch. Billy was draped in his armchair. "Billy? How big is your place in New Hampshire?"

The outlaw blinked in surprise. "Pretty big actually. It's an actual house. Why?"

"You mentioned earlier that you used to spend Christmas there every year. I thought maybe we could go up there to celebrate, especially since there are so many of us."

"Oh, yeah, I liked that place. We used to go skiing, remember that?" Black Hawk broke in. He tossed his balled up socks at the Kid. Billy swatted them away absently.

Billy frowned, more in thought than because he was upset. "I haven't been there in years… It might be quite a mess."

"I'd help you clean it up, if you wanted to go up there a week or so before Christmas. Scatty could come help, if she wants," he added courteously, glancing over at Scathach. She nodded, scrutinizing not the American immortal, but the Italian. He willed her to understand it all, not just the diversion, but the choice in the diversion.

"It might be a good idea for us," she said. "We could spend a couple weeks up there at least. There's a lot of us in the area now- the Flamels, me, Black Hawk and Billie, you, Niccolo, Fred, and I just heard from Joan that her and some of the European immortals might stop by at some point in time."

"Well, jeez, it's a house, not a hotel," he said, but he laughed. "Maybe we should go up there…"

A glint came into the Italian immortal's eyes. "Do you skate?" he asked Billy.

"Ice skate?" The outlaw asked dubiously. "Ehh… It's not exactly what I'd call a strength of mine…"

"Oh, this could be fun to watch," Black Hawk said, a wide grin breaking across his face.


	84. Chapter 84

"Are you comfortable?" she asked him, leaning into his side when a young man with tattoos on the side of his face leered at her as he passed. He took the seat in front of theirs and turned in his seat to look at her again. She made a face, irritated.

He glanced over at what had caught her attention. "I might be more comfortable in the middle seat," he told her, getting up. They switched seats.

"I wasn't afraid of him," she said quietly in his ear. "I can take care of myself."

He took her hand in his and gave it a little squeeze. "I know," he replied, just as softly. "But there's no need to borrow trouble." He shifted his legs a little. "These seats aren't really made for someone of my stature, I'd say."

"Wouldn't know. I'm short." She swung her legs back and forth, proving her point.

"These two cities are farther apart than I imagined they'd be," he added, scrolling through his phone. He sat up, looking toward the front of the bus. "Where is Billy?"

Scatty pressed up to the glass. "There he is," she pointed out, spotting him in the crowd.

"He'd better hurry up. He's going to miss the train," Machiavelli said worriedly. They both watched the Kid. "Doesn't seem to be hurrying, does he? Come on," he begged under his breath.

"Here he is, he's finally getting on."

Billy came up the steps. Milling behind an older woman that he'd been chatting with, he looked around. Machiavelli waved to him and, catching the movement, the American immortal broke into a smile. He waved back.

Halfway down the aisle, he stopped to help her put her bags on the overhead compartment. He had to bend far down to hear what the woman was saying in his ear, but his grin spoke volumes. Machiavelli shook his head; Billy made friends wherever he went, it would seem. Finally, he gave her a kiss on the cheek, got a laugh from the woman, and made his way to where they were waiting for him.

Billy edged his way in front of them to the window seat. "What's up?" he asked, seeing them both look up at him. He struggled out of his jacket, folding it over his arm before sitting down at last. Moments later the train began to move, pulling out of Grand Central station.

"Do I have competition?" Machiavelli murmured in his ear, leaning over under the pretext of watching the white stone masonry fade away behind them. He let his aura sweep out and surround them; for a moment, they were surrounded by a pearly white transparent bubble, then it solidified into an invisible barrier. He thought that an observant five-year-old might have noticed, but otherwise his action went unnoticed. He felt less like a target though, having put up some form of protection.

Billy chuckled. "I love old ladies- not the cranky ones, though- they're the sweetest things imaginable." He wrapped an arm around the Italian's shoulders. "No competition though. I'm always going to love you best of all."

"The love of your life and I were taking bets on if you'd make it here in time," Scatty said sardonically, leaning around Machiavelli to see Billy. Like Machiavelli, she seemed a bit wary of traveling in this very public manner. While she was talking, she kept an eye on the aisle.

"Oh, yeah? Were you for or against?" the Kid asked Niccolo, his blue eyes crinkled in merriment. They had to stop talking to listen to the announcements being made as the train slowly began picking up speed now that they had cleared the city limits.

"Against," Machiavelli commented and pulled his wallet out of his pocket. "You lost me five dollars," he told Billy sulkily.

The outlaw faked a gasp and sat up in his own seat. "Mac, how could you?" He clutched his chest as though it hurt, but Machiavelli could see the way Billy glanced over at him to see if he was amused; the tactician was, though he tried to hide his smile with a stern look.

"Easily," the Italian said drily, handing a five-dollar bill to Scatty who snapped it between her fingers and stuffed it in her bra. "You weren't exactly rushing to get on. I didn't even know where you were until about a minute ago."

"I was getting you something," Billy enticed.

"What is it?"

"Give me a kiss."

"How do I know it's worth a kiss?" Machiavelli asked shrewdly. Billy laughed. "I just don't want my affection to ruin my objectivity. Would Scatty kiss you to get this item?"

Scatty hadn't been paying attention, but she looked up now. "Say what now?"

Billy leaned out now "Want a kiss, Scatty?" he teased.

"No."

"I'm a good kisser," he enticed. "I am, aren't I?" he asked worriedly, looking over at the Italian immortal.

"Eh."

"What do you mean, eh?" Billy looked outraged. Next to them, Scatty laughed. "I'm the best kisser."

"I've had better…"

"No, don't say that," Billy begged, looking faintly worried now, and Machiavelli felt bad.

"I'm only teasing, William. Give me a kiss."

"No."

"Come on," Machiavelli wheedled. He couldn't tell if the outlaw was actually upset or if he was just giving him a hard time in return for the Italian's teasing. "Show me what you got me."

"Mm mm."

"Mm hm. Billy, you're an excellent kisser."

Billy crossed his arms. "You're just putting me on." But a small grin was digging into the side of his mouth, making it twitch, and when he looked out the window, Niccolo knew he had won him over.

"No, I'm not," Machiavelli smiled, "I love you. Give me a kiss?" he asked, tapping his thin lips. The outlaw pecked him on the lips, still looking a little affronted.

"Ooh, that was magical," Scatty observed from her seat.

Machiavelli was beaming though- he'd missed Billy's playful banter these past few days. He wrapped his arms around the American immortal, feeling that same surge of affection he always did whenever he touched Billy. "Did I earn whatever you got me?"

"Yeah, you always do. It's nothing really." Digging through the pockets of his coat, he pulled out a copy of La Settimana Enigmistica.

"Where'd you find a copy of this?" Machiavelli asked, leafing through the puzzle book.

"They sell them at a magazine stand down the road from the station. I was kind of surprised though, it's not like there's a large Italian population in New York, at least in comparison to any other ethnicity group, but I guess cause it's the city. You like it?"

"Yeah, I like the magazine. Thanks…"

"Did you like the show?" Billy asked Scatty, leaning forward to see her too.

"I did," she admitted. "It was sad though, you didn't say it was going to be that sad…"

"I didn't know anything about it before we bought the tickets."

They'd gone up to New York for the day, the three of them, to see Dear Evan Hansen playing on Broadway. Billy had described it as a fun way to spend the day, but he had cried his eyes out through at least half the show and they'd waited in the theater while all the other patrons had cycled out so that the outlaw could get a grip on himself. Next time, Machiavelli told himself, he was going to choose which show they went to see and they were going to carefully research it.

The landscape was dark around them, street lights passing by in orange streaks. The train rocked gently back and forth; Machiavelli kept Scatty's hand loosely in his grasp as they went. He was glad she had come with them- perhaps out of respect for the limited time the two men had alone together, she'd initially objected to her part in the trip. But she had been a lot of fun to be with as they'd moved through the city. Unsuspecting men had tried to hit on her all day as they made their way along the sidewalks and they'd gotten their asses handed back to them by the spunky European immortal.

She surprised him by resting her head on his shoulder now, holding his hand with both of hers now. "Tired?" he asked her.

"Just resting," she told him. He could smell her shampoo, she was so close.

"I'm glad you came," he told her. She didn't say anything, but she tapped his hand with her thumb.

"Mac, you were talking about going up to my New Hampshire house." He nodded, surprised Billy was bringing it up now. A few days had passed since they'd mentioned it last and he hadn't want to push the subject. "When did you want to go up?"

"Did you want to go up? We can stay in Philadelphia if you don't want to."

"Nah, it'd be nice to be up there again. I haven't been up in decades."

"Well then," Machiavelli said slowly, carefully thinking it over in his head. "We should probably go up soon. I imagine the house would need to be prepared a bit, especially if it's been that long since you've been there…"

"Are we all going up at once?" Billy asked.

"Are you crazy?" Scatty said from Machiavelli's other side. "You never get a chance to be by yourselves in our apartment. Go up early, for Christ's sake."

"You want to?" Billy asked, leaning heavily on Machiavelli's right side.

"If you want to," he said, feeling a bit wrongfooted.

"I do, I do. Sorry Mac, I'm just a bit nervous about going back up, is all. Of course, I want to spend time with you."

"Why are you nervous?"

Billy shook his head. "Don't know exactly. Guess it's just been a long time…"

Machiavelli wondered what Billy wasn't telling him. He wondered how much Billy had been in love with this girl, Erin, how things might have turned out if she had been immortal or him, mortal. He didn't like to think of it, but his pragmatic mind wouldn't let him push it off to the darker recesses of his mind, not until he understood it. He didn't like this semi-obsessive part of himself that hung onto problems like a dog with a bone.

"Mac?" Billy was tapping his hand. "You're off in your own head, Mac. I was just asking you when you'd like to go? I need a day or so to call up and get the utilities turned on- we could go after that. Want to?"

"Yes. Yes, sorry. I'd like that."


	85. Chapter 85

"What happened to all the snow from last week?" Machiavelli asked, only noticing the absence of the snow banks now that they were walking outside.

Billy looked surprised. "The snow's been gone for a couple of days now, Mac."

"Well I know that. But why is it raining? Shouldn't it be snowing?" He shivered. "It's definitely cold enough."

Walking back from the bookstore on the other side of Rittenhouse Square, they'd gotten caught in sudden freezing rainstorm. Machiavelli had brought a woolen newsboy cap with him and was, at least somewhat, protected from the pelting droplets, but Billy's knit cap was covered in ice and he was beginning to look a touch miserable. They'd both turned up the collars of their jackets against the wind following them.

Billy slipped an arm around his shoulders, ignoring the curious glances of some passerby. "December's a funny month, especially weather wise. And you get cold easily. It must be that Mediterranean blood in you." He patted his shoulder. "We'll get you home soon," he promised.

"I'm just not used to it being so cold," Niccolo said, shivering. "It hardly ever snows in Paris."

"Really?" Billy stopped walking, and Machiavelli, who had been walking fast as it was, was forced to double back. The Kid apologized and ran ahead a little, meeting him halfway. "But how do you have snowball fights in France, then?"

"Oh, well I'm never going to participate in a snowball fight anyways…" He faltered a little midway through his sentence, wishing he'd had the forethought to stop talking sooner.

Billy had a mad glint in his eyes that told otherwise. "Think again. We're going to have fun." He leaned in close to the Italian immortal's ear. "I have ways to warm you up later," he whispered.

Machiavelli felt another shiver, one that had nothing to do with the cold. He looked over at Billy, but the outlaw was strolling along, innocently looking up at the ice laden trees. Only a slight twist of a smile at the corner of his mouth belied his amusement. "Care to share?"

"No, I'll leave it a surprise." He grabbed the Italian's arm. "We're almost home, come on. We've got to dry you off." He took off running and Machiavelli was forced to sprint to follow him, afraid he was going to slip and fall several times as he raced down the icy sidewalk. Billy only slowed when they reached their steps, grabbing the rail and half pulling himself up. He was half bent over with laughter. He fumbled at the door with the keys, their hands half frozen from the rain. "Here we go, get in!"

They clattered into the little hallway, the Kid's boots squeaking against the polished wood. "Scatty! Black Hawk?" Billy called. He listened intently. Hearing nothing, he surveyed the coat rack- empty. "I don't think they're here yet. Come on! We've got time." He grabbed Machiavelli's hand; the Italian just had time to kick off his shoes before he was pulled upstairs. He couldn't help it- he laughed.

Billy herded him backwards, towards the bed. He seemed all energy, quickly undoing his belt and zipper and scrambling out of his pants. He left his shirt on, climbing on the bed and straddling Machiavelli's skinny torso. "You're happy to see me," the tactician quipped, letting Billy's fleet fingers work on his clothes.

"I've been happy to see you all afternoon," the Kid shot back, grinning down at him. "Here we go!" Yanking on his suit pants, he left them bunched around his knees, giving Machiavelli very little mobility, but also an exquisite sense of tightness. Bending, he kissed the Italian immortal then ground his hips into the Italian, throwing his head back with a strangled moan.

"Is this the reward I can expect from your damned snowball fights?" Machiavelli panted. The contact between them was almost overwhelming. "Cause I'm game."

"You- talk- so- much," Billy grunted. He adjusted his pace to something more cadence. "I've never had such a sexual partner for talking," he laughed, kissing Niccolo's jawline in between words.

"My curiosity does not stop at the bedroom door," Machiavelli said smoothly, still desperately trying to push his pants down the rest of the way; it was no use, Billy had him pretty well pinned this time. For a man on the shorter side, the outlaw used his height and weight to his advantage, perching himself directly on Machiavelli's center of balance. His futile attempts to take control of the situation only heightened the American immortal's sense of pleasure.

"I don't mind it," Billy assured him. "I just think it's silly that you're so much more talkative when we're- you know- then the rest of the time."

"Can't explain it- I'm an enigma."

Billy tried to roll off him, perhaps taking pity on the Italian, but Machiavelli liked the feeling of Billy's weight bearing down on him, the friction it created, the way their hips rolled against each other's. He grabbed the outlaw's ass and held him close, slipping his fingers under the fabric of the other man's boxers. Billy kissed him, tilting his head so that their noses didn't collide. He started off gentle, but Machiavelli opened his mouth and the Kid deepened the kiss. Machiavelli felt a jolt of pleasure traverse his body when he felt Billy's tongue in his mouth.

Billy stopped, breathless, his forehead pressed against Machiavelli's. They were so close to each other, Machiavelli could feel the pounding of Billy's heart traveling into his own chest. The American immortal was hard and warm pressed against him; there was an unspoken communication of desire between the two men.

The outlaw groaned, shifting so that he could kiss Machiavelli's neck. He sucked on the Italian's Adam's apple.

"You want to do more?" Machiavelli asked, feeling alive with desire.

Billy hesitated. "We might not have much time," he said nervously, glancing towards the windows. Now he was the one with reservations. "We don't know when they left. And I'm…"

"I didn't mean sex," Niccolo assured him, sensing a sort of reluctance on the American's part to say the actual words. "I just meant a different position."

"Oh. Oh yeah. What do you have in mind?"

Half raising himself, Machiavelli whispered his idea in Billy's ear, too self-conscious to look him in the eye when he said what he wanted to do. Billy grinned, bemused, and said, "I can do that."

"I'm taking these pants off the rest of the way though," Machiavelli told him, pushing them off impatiently and throwing them on the floor. "Get on your knees."

"Yes, sir," he said cheekily, crawling onto the middle of the bed.

"I'm taking these off too," Machiavelli told him, tugging Billy's briefs off. The outlaw shivered. "You're gorgeous, you know that?"

"I'm nothing to look at," he laughed nervously.

"You're amazing. I want to touch you everywhere."

"Feel free," the outlaw said. He leaned back on his haunches, taking Machiavelli's hand in his own. The Italian immortal closed the gap between them, wrapping his other arm around Billy's waist and feeling the exquisite sensation of muscle and bone moving beneath his fingers. He let go of Billy's hand, to cup him, and rested his head in the crook of the man's head and shoulder.

"I want you."

"I want you more."

Machiavelli pushed gently, but firmly down on Billy's torso so the outlaw was bent double again. "You like this?" He worked his erection free of his boxers, pressing it against the American immortal.

"Yeah… You know what I like, Mac?"

"Loose women, fast cars, irritating me, making out in the afternoon..." Machiavelli ticked them off on his fingers. He glanced down at the younger man. "At least I hope you like that last one, otherwise I don't know what we're doing here." He gestured around the room.

"I do, I do," Billy assured him. He let out a rather loud moan when the Italian immortal rolled his hips, driving himself further against the outlaw. Billy didn't continue the conversation right away, as most of his attention seemed to be diverted to his lower regions. It wasn't until his partner was spent and pulled out that Billy spoke again. "I like when you talk dirty."

"How often can we really say I talk dirty?" Machiavelli scoffed.

The Kid shrugged his shoulders. "Not often," he admitted. "But when you do, you're good at it. Here, I'll start you off. Billy, I want to fuck you so hard, your eyes will roll back in your head and- Why are you laughing? Put some effort in it, lazy."

Machiavelli languidly stroked Billy. The American immortal keened slightly, thrusting his hips to match the older man's movements. "Have I got the biggest member you've seen, Billy?" the Italian asked suddenly.

"Uhm, I think Black Hawk had more girth, but you're longer," Billy mumbled.

"What?" Machiavelli's hands slipped off and he pulled the American immortal up to look him in the face. "When were you around Black Hawk naked?" he whispered.

Billy moaned at the loss of his companion's fingers. He tried to guide the Italian's hand back to his erect member, but Machiavelli swatted his hand away and continued to stare at him. He pulled away and Billy made an unhappy noise. "It's not what you're thinking, Mac. Black Hawk and I have never had sex. We never will!" The American shuddered seemingly at the mental image this discussion had suddenly provoked in his head.

"Then why…?"

"I walked in on him one time when he was with a girl- a woman. Naturally, I stopped to compare. Wouldn't you have done the same?"

"I guess," Machiavelli mumbled reluctantly. Still, he pushed himself up so that he was level with Billy's face. "Have you ever had sex with another man?"

Billy shook his head vigorously. "I never was gay until I met you. I've always been a womanizer." He reached up to trace the Italian's jawline. "So were you. You've probably had just as many partners as I have had, so what's bothering you?"

Machiavelli hesitated and chose to prolong the moment by kissing the American immortal on the lips. "I just like to think that I'm special to you," he murmured. "Besides, we Italians are passionate lovers. Very possessive," he kissed down Billy's neck, "and we don't like to share."

Billy's hand found his and squeezed tightly. "You are special to me," the American immortal admitted freely. "You're the only man I've ever loved." Leaning against the tactician, he whispered in Machiavelli's ear, "And you're definitely the only man I'm ever going to let fuck me."

"I will fuck you, then?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I want that. It's just…"

"You're nervous."

"A bit, yeah. One of these days, I'll actually be ready to go further with you, you know," he added.

"I know. There's no rush."

"I like what you're doing now though."

"Oh, you mean this?" Machiavelli grated himself against the American's ass, feeling thrills as he made contact against the other immortal's body; he humped Billy with total disregard, foreign, unwieldy noises escaping into the afternoon air. "Does it feel good?" he panted.

"Ugh, oh god, Mac," Billy moaned into the bed. The Kid pressed backwards in response, sitting up so that their bodies fitted together. He reached backward with his right hand, tangling his fingers in Machiavelli's hair. "So fucking good," he said, rolling his hips. "Oh, shit…"

Machiavelli felt like he was going to lose his mind when Billy crawled away from him. "Where- where are you going?" he panted, still tugging on himself.

"I heard something…" Billy peeked out of the window. "Shit!" he swore again. "They're parking the car!"

"Fuck!" Machiavelli dove off the bed. Grabbing his pants, he hurriedly began to redress himself, Billy rushing to do the same. The American immortal had an advantage- he'd been wearing sweat pants and a Henley top the night before- he grabbed these off the floor and jumped into them- and so, getting dressed all the way first, he ran downstairs.

Machiavelli pulled himself together, quickly checking his reflection in the full length mirror in the hall. Everything seemed fine except for a semi noticeably bulge in his pants; he hoped the others wouldn't notice this. Below he could hear Billy chatting animatedly with the other immortals. Grabbing his book he'd been reading, he made his way down the stairs. "Found the book I was looking for," he said as casually as he could. "Did you guys just get back?"

"Just now," Black Hawk confirmed affably. "You missed a great movie."

"Billy and I had a quiet afternoon," Machiavelli lied, running a hand through his hair. He saw Scatty trying to get his attention. When all the others traipsed into the living room, she hissed at him, "your fly is down."

"Oh, thanks," he said gratefully, carefully doing it up after glancing in the other room. "We were just-," his voice faded as he motioned meaninglessly, ducking his eyes.

"You don't need to explain," she said, also seeming a little uncomfortable. "I tried to keep them out for as long as I could. Apparently, they both hate the next movie that was going to come on though."

"That's okay, I appreciate you doing it for us," he assured her quietly, leading the way into the living room.

"You'll be able to do more soon."

"I know. I'm trying to get Billy moving."


End file.
